"Mr. Jack Sullivan to see you, miss," he announced.
"Mr. Jack Sullivan," repeated the butler. "I asked him for his card, miss, but he said he hadn't got none. Told me to mention his name, an' said you'd know him."
"But I don't know him," protested Grace. "I never heard of him in my life. There must be some mistake. Are you sure he wants, me, Peterson?"
Whereupon the butler, as stiff as a ramrod, went back to the door where he had left Mr. Sullivan standing.
"He means you, miss," the functionary remarked, as he came back to the library.
"I wonder what he can want," Grace said, half to herself. "I don't know any such person. I think there's a mistake. I will see him, and tell him so."
"Wait a minute," exclaimed Larry. "Perhaps I can explain this. I think I know Mr. Sullivan."
"A political leader of the eighth assembly district."
"What does that mean; I'm dreadfully ignorant of politics," Grace remarked with a smile. "Poor papa was much interested in them, but I never could make head or tail out of political matters."
"I have an idea that Sullivan has called here in reference to the disappearance of your father."
"Why do you think that?" and Grace turned pale. "Do you think he brings bad news?"
"On the contrary, I think he has come in search of information."
Thereupon Larry told of his interview with the politician, based on what he had overheard in reference to Mr. Potter and the extension of the subway.
"Wasn't your father interested in building a new line of street railroad?" he asked of Grace.
"I'm sure I don't know. I never kept track of papa's business matters."
"What ought I to do about this Mr. Sullivan?" Grace asked.
"I think you had better see him," replied Larry.
"I'd be afraid to, alone, and mother has such a headache that she can't come downstairs. Will you stay in the room with me?" and she looked appealingly at Larry.
"I'm afraid if I did Sullivan wouldn't talk. He knows me, and imagines I have done him a wrong, which I have not. I believe he considers me his enemy. He would probably go away without saying anything if you met him in my presence."
"But you don't need to be actually present," said Grace, with sudden inspiration. "Look here, this is a little alcove," and she pulled aside a hanging curtain and showed a recess in the library wall. "You can stand in there, and hear whatever he has to say. I'd feel safer if you were near. Of course there's Peterson, but he's so queer, and I don't like the servants to hear too much about poor father's disappearance. Will you stay here and be at hand in case I want you?"