There was a maddening delay, and as Iris waited, she began to fear she had done a foolish thing. She suddenly realized that she had acted too quickly and perhaps unadvisedly. But she must stand by it now. It was half an hour before a man arrived and met her at the door of the drug shop. "I am Mr. Dayton," he said, "from the agency. Is this Miss Clyde?" "Yes," said Iris, "and please hurry! I've just got on the track of a man who is a--a burglar----" "Ma'am?" and the detective looked sharply at this young girl who had called him to her. "Yes," and Iris grew impatient at his doubtful interest, "now, don't stop to parley, but catch him." "Where is he?" "He's in the restaurant, half a block away. I don't mean for you to arrest him, but trail him, shadow him, or whatever you call it, and find out who he is, and what sort of a character he bears. If he's a correct and decent citizen, all right; if he's a man who might be a burglar, I want to know it! Now, fly!" "Wait a minute, Miss Clyde. Tell me more. How shall I know him?" "Oh, he's at the table by the first front window, as you go from here. He's a tall man, and a strong-looking one. Come on, I'll point him out." They went toward the restaurant, and cautiously Iris looked in at the window. But her quarry had fled. There was no one at the table at all. "Come on in," she cried to the bewildered Dayton. "No, that won't do, he mustn't see me. You go in, and get the waiter who served him, or the proprietor or somebody, and find out who the man was who ate at that table just now. Maybe he's still in the coat room." Iris stepped around a corner, and Dayton went in on his errand. But the waiter had no knowledge of the patron's name. He said he had never seen him before, to his knowledge, but he was a new waiter there, and the captain might know. However, neither the head waiter nor the cashier, nor indeed anyone about the place, knew the man. A few remembered seeing him, but the waiters at nearby tables, if they had noticed him, didn't know his name. One waiter said he thought he had seen him before, but wasn't sure. The man was gone, and no one knew which direction he had taken from the restaurant. Iris was disheartened at the report of her emissary. "If you'd only got here sooner!" she reproached the detective. "Did my best," he assured her. "Describe your man more accurately." But Iris couldn't seem to think of any very distinguishing characteristics that fitted him. "His name is Pollock," she said, "and he's a collector. Oh, wait, I do know something more. He's in the hardware business." "For himself, or with a firm?" "I don't know." "Then, I fear, Miss Clyde, we're wasting time in looking for a person so vaguely identified. If you say so, I can go over the hardware people for a Pollock, but it will be an unsatisfactory and expensive process."