So he went his weary way, fearing arrest every moment, yet feeling rather secure now that a week had passed and he had not been apprehended. He found several odd jobs to do when there was no snow to shovel and so managed to make enough to live on. The four boys and Mr. Wilding kept up their search. The police and private detectives did what they could but to no purpose. Personals were inserted in the papers, begging Ned to communicate with his father, but Ned never thought of looking for them. One afternoon, William, who had adopted the plan of walking about the streets in the hope of seeing Ned, whom he knew by description and a photograph, paused in front of a commission store, where a youth about his own age was helping to move boxes of oranges from a truck. Something about the lad attracted William's attention. "I wonder if that's Ned?" he said to himself. "He looks just like the boys told me he would and like that photograph Mr. Wilding had. Still I wouldn't like to make a mistake. I must get closer." He pretended to be searching for a number on the building, and so approached near to the boy helping unload the crates. "I'll bet it is Ned," William said to himself with conviction. "I'm going to ask him. He can't any more than say no." He sauntered up to the young fellow, and, with an air of unconcern asked: "Do you know anyone around here named Ned Wilding? I'm looking for him." The boy, carrying a crate of oranges, jumped so he almost dropped the fruit. Then he looked sharply at William. His face grew pale, and William was sure he had found Ned. "I haven't got time to talk," was the rather gruff answer made by the boy with the crate. "I'm busy," and then he hurried into the store with the box. "Fooled again," thought William. He waited until the boy came out again, and this time he was sure it was the missing youth. But now he decided on a different plan. "Evidently, if it is Ned, he doesn't want to be known," thought William. "Something's gone wrong with him. My only chance is in getting some of his chums here to identify him. I must telephone to one of them. They may be at the hotel. If not I'll leave word for them to come here as soon as they get back. Mr. Wilding too! I must 'phone him! Then I'll remain on the watch until some one arrives." There was a telephone pay-station across the street, and William sent his two messages from there. Neither of the three chums was in, nor was Mr. Wilding, but at both hotels the clerks said they would deliver the messages promptly. "Now to wait until they come," said William as he left the booth. Just then, as he was looking at the boy, who was still carrying in the crates, he saw a big man with a red moustache approach him. William was not near enough to hear what the man said, but he noted that the boy seemed frightened.