Joe’s description was clear and concise and the agent nodded again. “I remember the chap,” he said. “He bought to—Hold on, now. What business is it of yours, my boy? Is he a friend of yours, or what’s the game?”
“He worked for me at the news-stand in the Adams Building and left suddenly about a quarter to five. I went to his house and the landlady said he’d taken his baggage and gone. I—I want to see him and ask him something.”
“Do, eh?” The agent grinned. “How much did he touch you for?”
Joe smiled non-committingly.
“Well, that’s not my business, eh?” laughed the agent. “All right, son, I’ll tell you what I know about the lad. He bought a ticket to Upper Newton. I remember it distinctly because he called for a Fostoria ticket first and changed his mind just as I stamped it. I asked him if he was quite sure this time and he said he guessed he was. Yep, Upper Newton, that was it. He carried a yellow suit-case. I noticed that as he went out to the platform just before I closed the window.”
“And where’s Upper Newton?” asked Joe. “Is it very far?”
“About twenty-four or -five miles.”
“When does the next train go there?”
“Seven-thirty-six. But, say, if you’re thinking of going after him I wouldn’t count a whole lot on finding him at Upper Newton. That’s not much more than a flag station. I wouldn’t wonder if he bought for there just to throw folks off the track. Dare say he’ll pay his way on to Fostoria or, maybe, Fremont. At Fremont he could get east or west as he liked. There’s a through train connects there for Toledo and beyond and one going east about eleven tonight. Take my advice and stay where you are, son. You’ll never catch him unless you want to put the police after him. If you care for that I’d advise you to go back up-town and tell your story to the chief. How much did he pinch from you?”