They descended the stairs, Frank carrying his grip, but leaving his handsome light overcoat behind. The proprietor of the hotel was found, and in less than five minutes Merry had talked him into putting his name on the check, although he regretted doing so as soon as Frank was gone. CHAPTER V. ON THE TRACK. An evening train bore Frank Merriwell into St. Joseph. He had learned of a certainty that Hodge had purchased a ticket and taken a train for that city, and he hoped to find Bart there, although he feared he should not. If Bart kept on for Chicago, as he might do, there was little chance of overtaking him. After starting, Frank began to realize that such a blind pursuit seemed foolish in the extreme. His one hope was that Hodge would step off in St. Jo. If Bart did not—— Frank did not like to think of that. And still the conviction that it was more than likely Hodge would continue his flight grew stronger and stronger. “Well,” muttered Merry, as he stepped off the train, “I’ll make a search for him here. It’s the best I can do.” He had known all along that he might have stopped Hodge by means of telegrams to the police departments of various places through which the fugitive must pass; but, even though Hodge had taken the money from the grip, Frank’s soul revolted against recovering it by bringing about the erring fellow’s arrest. Already Bart was on the downward road—the road to ruin! Frank felt certain of that. Was it possible to stop him—to save him? It did not seem possible. It appeared as if Bart’s downfall were complete. After leaving the station Frank found a policeman and asked a number of questions. Then he proceeded to a hotel, where he registered and left his grip. He examined the register, but Bart’s name was not there. He scarcely expected to find it, for something told him Hodge would not register under his own name. Frank believed he could recognize Bart’s handwriting at a glance, no matter what the name might be, and it was in this manner that he hoped to trace the fugitive. He set out on a weary round of hotels, examining the register at each one. He could not run over the list of arrivals swiftly, for he knew it was possible Hodge might attempt to disguise his handwriting, as well as assume a fictitious name. This made him scrutinize each signature closely and carefully. It was a tiresome task, but he plodded on, hoping against hope. His nature revolted against such crude detective work, but this did not seem to be a case at which he could work in a systematic manner. If he found Hodge it would be a case of good fortune as much as anything else, and he knew it. At last he had visited all the hotels and his search had been unrewarded.