It was arranged to go on to Boston by the night express. When they arrived in the Hub city they would at once slip onto the next train back. This would confuse the pursuers and place them on the defensive. The Shore Line Express took them out of New York. The Bradys kept a sharp outlook and were certain that none of the gang were on the train. Consequently they felt elated. “On my word!” exclaimed Harry. “I believe we have slipped them.” “It looks like it,” agreed Old King Brady. “But I am not wholly sure. They have disappointed us several times.” “That is true,” agreed Harry. “Yet I believe we will fool them this time.” The Bradys made themselves comfortable in the sleeping car. Just as they were about to retire, a short man with bushy whiskers and a tweed suit came into the car. He occupied the section next to the detectives. He claimed their attention at once, but neither remembered having seen him before. He ignored them, however, and at once tumbled into his bunk. His snore could soon be heard above the rumble of the train. In due season the Bradys also retired. They slept soundly until at about six o’clock the train rolled into Boston. The detectives had decided to stay in Boston during the day and take the night train back to New York. Then they could assume the best disguise they had and perhaps shake their murderous pursuers. They left the depot and made their way to a respectable Boston hostelry. The weather was typical of New England at the time of year and was most bitterly cold. When the detectives registered at the Parker House, the fellow-passenger in the tweed suit also registered. He was assigned to a room, as were the detectives. Young King Brady noted the coincidence, but thought nothing of it. But once in the room, a sudden thought came to Harry. He instantly exclaimed: “Confound it! You and I are getting daft, partner.” “Eh?” exclaimed Old King Brady. “What are you driving at?” “We are blind fools! Far from eluding the gang, we are only getting into their way.” “What do you mean?” “Do you remember the man who slept in the berth next us?” “On the train?” “Yes.” “Short man with tweed suit?” “The very one!” “Yes. What of it?” “Well, we are blind. That fellow is Martin Van in disguise!” Old King Brady gasped. “Harry!” he ejaculated. “What do you mean?” “It is true! I have placed him now. I knew he seemed familiar.” “Nonsense! I can’t see any connection or any similarity.” “You can’t?” “No.” “Well, I couldn’t at first. But after we registered, I went down into the wash-room. He was there as well!” “Ah!” “I passed by him and chancing to glance into a side mirror I had profile view of him. He was indulging in the St. Vitus dance and his features were all contorted.” Old King Brady was silent. He knew that Van had the St. Vitus dance. The coincidence was certainly suspicious. He was thoughtful.