The train from the Adirondacks arrived at schedule time, and began to disgorge, while the millionaire, who had obtained a description of Chick from the butler, narrowly scanned the faces of the passengers as they hurried through the gate. The newspaper proprietor did not have to wait long. He soon caught a glimpse of an erect, keen-eyed, athletic young man, striding down the platform, and carrying a heavy suit case, as if it were a featherweight. “That must be Chick Carter!” he told himself, with a nod of satisfaction. But the next moment he gave a gasp, and a look of utmost bewilderment spread over his face. He had caught sight of the man at Chick’s side, and feature for feature it was the man whom Cray had called into consultation—was, in other words, Nick Carter himself! CHAPTER XXXVI. AT CROSS PURPOSES. Staggered, his brain reeling under the shock, Lane Griswold was flung clean off his balance. What was Nick Carter doing here? Had he hidden the money somewhere, and hurried northward to join his assistant, as if nothing had happened? That must be it, and yet it hardly seemed possible that he could have made the journey in that time. He would have had to leave New York in the dead of night following the robbery, and if he had reached the mountain resort in the far northern part of the State before Chick’s departure, there could have been no time to spare. In other words, he must have returned at once with his assistant. But what nerve to have returned at all, in the face of such a message from the man who had been half killed by him! The detective could not know that the telegram had not been written or dictated by his victim, and therefore, must expect to have to face Cray. It was incomprehensible, and yet there was Nick, beyond a doubt, and more than that, he was looking as fresh and buoyant as possible. A policeman brushed past Griswold, and, with a quick movement, the latter touched the officer on the arm. He would have Nick arrested, and then—— “Yes, sir?” the bluecoat asked civilly. “That man!” the millionaire answered hoarsely, pointing toward the approaching detective. “I must ask you to——” Then something stopped him. He remembered that he did not have enough evidence as yet, and that it would be very unwise to press matters, unless he were reasonably sure of proving his charges. “I—I’m mistaken!” he added confusedly. The policeman looked at him for a moment in disgust, then turned away with a shrug of his shoulders, muttering something under his breath. Undecided, his thoughts in a turmoil, the newspaper proprietor stood aside and allowed Chick and his companion to pass him. They had gone hardly more than ten paces, however, before he suddenly made up his mind to follow and have it out with the detective at once.