“I remember Hanlon asked Mr. Hendricks if he were going his way, and Hendricks said he was going to spend the evening where he was.” “Egg-zackly. And did. But all the same, Hanlon waited. And a wait of an hour and a half registers patience and perseverance--to my mind.” “Right you are! And you trailed the pair?” “Did I?” Fibsy fell back in his chair, as if exhausted. “I followed them to Mr. Hendricks’ home, they chatterin’ glibly all the way--and then after a few minutes’ further remarks on the doorstep Hendricks, he went in--and Hanlon--! You know, Mr. Stone, Hanlon’s nobody’s fool, and he knew I was follerin’ him as well as he knew his name! I don’t know how he knew it--for I was most careful to keep out’a sight, but all the same, he did know it--and what do you think he did? He led me a chase of miles--and miles--and miles! That’s what he did!” “On purpose?” “On purpose! Laughin’ in his silly sleeve! I was game. I trotted along--but bullieve me! I was mad! And the galoot was so slick about it! Why, he walked up Broadway first--as if he had a business appointment in a desprit hurry. Then, having reached Hunderd an’ Twenty-fi’th Street, he pauses a minute--to be sure I’m trailin’, the vilyun and then, he swings East, and across town, and turns South again--oh, well, Mr. Stone, he simpully makes me foller him till I’m that dog-tired, I near drops in my tracks. And, to top the heap, he leads me straight to this hotel, where we’re stayin’--yes, sir! right here--and makin’ a sharp turn, he says, ‘Good-night!’ pleasant like, and scoots off. Can you beat it?” “Poor old Fibs, that was an experience! Looks like the Hanlon person is one to be reckoned with. But it doesn’t prove him mixed up in the murder mystery in any way.” “No, sir, it don’t. It’s only made me sore on him--and sore on my own account, too!” Fibsy grinned ruefully. “Me feet’s that blistered--and I’m lame all over!” “Poor boy! You see, he’s a sprinter from ‘way back. His stunts on that newspaper work prove he can take long walks without turning a hair.” “Yes, but its croolty to animiles to drag a young feller like me along, too. I’ve got his number. Just you wait, Cele! Remember, Mr. Stone, he played spook-catcher to Miss Ames. That means something, sir.” “It does, indeed. This is a great old case, Fibsy. Are you getting a line on it?” “I think so, sir,” and the lad looked very earnest. “Are you?” “A strange one. But, yet, a line. To-day, Fibs, I want you to interview that Mrs. Desternay. You can do it better than I, jolly her along, and find out if she’s friend or foe of Mrs. Embury.” “Yessir. An’ kin I do a little sleuthin’ on my own?” “What sort?” “Legitermit--I do assure you, sir.” When Fibsy assumed this deeply earnest air, Stone knew some clever dodge was in his mind, and he found it usually turned out well, so he said, “Go ahead, my boy; I trust you.” “Thank yer,” and Fibsy devoted himself to the remainder of his breakfast, while Stone read the morning paper.