“There, by Jove, that does settle it,” he said to himself. “I certainly have fooled him. He does not suspect me of being a detective, or he would have continued his flight. He probably reasons that I came out of one of the opposite dwellings and turned back to look after the girl. It should be soft walking, now, to trail the rascal to cover.” Chick had prepared himself for the work he had in view. He made a quick change of disguise, then crossed the avenue and looked into the saloon. Bart Bailey was gulping down a glass of whisky, after which he left the saloon by a side door, then made for the nearest elevated station. Chick followed him, mounting the stairway on the opposite corner from that taken by his quarry. When the train arrived at Thirty-fourth Street, Bailey left the train, trailed by Chick. The young rogue ran down the stairs and jumped aboard a crosstown car. Chick had followed his quarry, and both dismounted at the Pennsylvania Station, where Bailey got a suit case from the parcel room, and then hastened to board an outbound train, entering the smoking car and taking one of the front seats. Chick followed him and took one in the middle of the car. “He must have a return ticket to some point, not having bought one,” he said to himself. “This may confirm another of Nick’s suspicions, that the stolen merchandise is being shipped to another city, and that Bailey still is in league with the gang in some capacity. I’ll soon find out where he’s going, since it’s up to me to go with him.” Chick conferred quietly with the conductor half an hour later, when the fast express was speeding south, confiding his identity and stating what he wanted to learn. Later, when the conductor came through the train to punch the tickets, he paused briefly and whispered to the detective: “He has a return ticket to Philadelphia. The date shows that it was purchased day before yesterday.” Chick thanked him and now paid his fare. “It’s Philadelphia for mine, also,” he remarked, smiling significantly. “I was all at sea as to where I was going. I’m glad to find out.” The conductor laughed quietly, and moved on through the train. It was long after midnight when Chick shadowed Bailey from the Pennsylvania Station, in Philadelphia, to a second-class hotel in Arch Street, where his quarry evidently already was quartered, for he stopped only for a key and several letters, which the clerk took from a pigeonhole and gave him, and he then went up to his room. Chick entered a moment later and registered under a fictitious name. “Was that Tom Denny who came in just ahead of me?” he inquired carelessly. “No.” The clerk shook his head. “That was Arthur Finley. I don’t know Tom Denny.” “He’s a traveling salesman with whom I’m acquainted. I thought I recognized him.” “You were mistaken. Mr. Finley has been living here for several months. He’s a buyer for Rudolph Meyer, who runs a general fancy-goods store in Broad Street.”