“I’m afraid we’re on a sort of wild-goose chase,” remarked William, “but it’s the best we can do. If I had only been sure it was Ned I would have followed him, without waiting for you, but I wasn’t.”
“If it was Ned,” said Bart, “I can’t understand why he didn’t admit his identity.”
“He must have had a good reason for it,” retorted Fenn.
Through the street they hurried, making inquiries from policemen, and others whom they met, as to whether Ned and the man had gone that way. They got some traces, but in New York few persons, even policemen, have time to take note of those whom they have no special reason for keeping in mind. As William had said, it was a sort of wild-goose chase, and, when they had gone a mile or more, they became convinced that it was useless to continue any farther.
“Baffled again,” remarked Bart. “This beats me. I wonder what we are to do.”
“Have to begin all over again,” declared William. “It was my fault. I should have followed Ned.”
“No, you did what you thought was best,” Fenn replied.
They returned to the hotel, to find Mr. Wilding and Frank awaiting them. Mr. Wilding, who had expected some news of his son, was deeply disappointed when the three boys returned with none.
“What in the world are we to do?” asked Mr. Wilding. “We seem completely at a loss.”
“There are a few more lodging houses to try,” suggested William. “I’ll start out again this evening. That’s when the places are full, and I may get some trace of him.”