Forty-nine was a faster train than the one on which Mr. Chester Young had embarked and made but five stops between Amesville and Fremont, but to Joe it seemed that she took things in an irritatingly leisurely manner. With but sixteen minutes’ leeway at the end of his journey, he was momentarily in fear that something would happen to detain them, and he viewed his watch anxiously as, having made a perfectly ridiculous stop of four minutes at Folkstone, Forty-nine rolled off again into the night. However, a comparison of his time and that indicated on the time-table with which he had armed himself showed no discrepancy, and he settled back in his seat with a sigh of relief. Fostoria was the next stop and he anxiously awaited it, wondering whether he would find a message from the agent. Now that he was absolutely embarked on his mission he began to wonder if he was not undertaking a foolish and hopeless quest. It had looked quite simple and easy back there at Amesville, but doubts assailed him now. There were so many chances against success. Young might go on to Sandusky or he might lose himself in Fremont, deciding to remain the night there, or he might take that local to Norwalk. Even if Joe found him he might be no better off! How was he to persuade Young to give up the money? If he called on the police for help there might be all sorts of complications. Joe wasn’t certain that it would not be necessary for him to swear out a warrant first, by which time Young would be on his way to Toledo or elsewhere. He took out his money and counted it over. He had exactly five dollars and thirty-seven cents left after purchasing his ticket to Fremont. Of that amount a dollar and forty-five cents would be needed for his journey back to Amesville. A dollar-forty-five from five-thirty-seven left three dollars and ninety-two cents. On that he could travel something like a hundred and thirty miles, he reflected. Very well, then. He would go along with Young until that youth made restitution or until he had exhausted what money he had. After that he would telegraph to Aunt Sarah for money to get home with. In any case, the police were to have no part in the affair! The train slowed down while he was reaching this decision and the trainman, opening the door ahead, let in a gust of cold air and announced Fostoria. Another seemingly interminable wait, and then the train went on again, and just as Joe had given up hope of that message it came. “Telegram for Joseph Faulkner,” said the conductor questioningly as he came through the car. “That’s me, please,” said Joe. “Here you are, then, my boy.” Joe took the sheet of buff paper and read: “Amesville. Jos. Faulkner, on No. 49, Fostoria. Harris wires party got off Fremont and said he was going to Cleveland. Think that’s a stall. Toledo the best guess. Good luck. CHASE.”