"How is it that you know so much about this man?" asked Nat, after he had collected his thoughts. "I am a police official from Chicago," answered one of the two men who had tried to catch Hamilton Dart. "We have been on this rascal's trail for some time." "Is Hamilton Dart his real name?" "No; his real name is Nick Smithers. He is a sly rogue." "Do you think there is any chance of catching him?" asked Harry Bray. "I cannot afford to lose my money." "Nor I," added our hero. "I must have my money back!" groaned the sick man. "What will my sister say? She got it out of the bank only yesterday!" "I wish I could help you," said the Chicago police official. "We'll do what we can." All went back to the office, and the janitor of the building was called in. "Sure, an' Mr. Dart has had the office only about a week," said the janitor. "He hasn't paid the rent yet. He said he was in the habit of payin' in the middle of the month." "Then the owner of this building is out of pocket, too," said one of the men from the West. An examination was made of the desk used by the swindler, but nothing of value was found. The letters and bills were of no consequence, and the blank books were not worth twenty-five cents each. "Let us go to the police station," said the men, and they went off, followed by the sick man. "This is the worst yet," remarked Nat, as he dropped into the one easy chair of which the office boasted. "And I thought I was so smart. I'm a regular greeny, if ever there was one!" And he shook his head bitterly. "I'm in the same boat," responded his fellow victim. "My father will be pretty mad when he hears of this. He lent me the money, and I assured him it would be perfectly safe." "I used my own money, but it was almost the last dollar I had," said our hero, soberly. At that moment his heart felt like a lump of lead in his bosom. "What do you suppose we can do about it?" "I'm sure I don't know." "Do you know where this Hamilton Dart, alias Nick Smithers, lived?" "No." "To look for him in a big city like this will be like looking for a needle in a haystack." "More than likely he won't stay in this city. He may be miles away already. He didn't want to see those men from Chicago." They talked the matter over for an hour, at the end of which time a detective from headquarters came to interview them. The detective took charge of the office, and that seemed to be the end of the affair. "Give me your addresses," said the detective to Nat and his fellow clerk. "If we hear anything we will let you know," and so it was arranged. Nat felt very much downcast when he arrived at his boarding house that evening. Mrs. Talcott was not long in noticing it. "You seem to be in trouble, Nat," said she kindly, for she had taken quite a fancy to the country lad. "Can I help you in any way?" "I don't know," he answered, bluntly. "I've gone and made a big fool of myself." "In what way?" asked she in astonishment.