"Nothin' in the papers about it."
"Say, Wally, do you think that means anything? Maybe they haven't got the news yet. Even if they have, what of it? Thousands go out that way every year — clipped on railroad crossings. They don't call that news any more."
"Ought to've been in the papers, I think."
"Listen. I stopped at the station last night. Took a squint at the bulletin board. That train was forty-five minutes late. It was on time when we heard it whistling. Had about eighteen more miles to go. What do you think made it late? Maybe the engineer got out to pick some buttercups."
"I get it, Steve," laughed Wally. "The loco must have knocked that touring car galley-west."
"And left no traces of the mug who was in it," added Steve. "They probably thought the car had been abandoned. Forget that guy, Wally. Nobody will ever hear of Harry Vincent again."
Steve went to the desk and turned on the little lamp. He consulted a time-table.
"Eight fifteen now," he said. "There's a train for Cleveland about nine o'clock. Plenty of time for me to make it. That's where I'm going. You hang around here a while if you want. Take another look up at the hotel, then clear out for Philly."
"We'll give up this Meyers proposition, then?"
"Yeah. Wally, I think I've got the wrong dope this time. The guy never came to Harrisburg before. He couldn't have done it very well and got back to Cleveland as quick as he used to. This must be a new proposition he's on. But he would have got back as quick as possible. So I figure he's there now, like I said. I'll pick up his trail again. I'd like to know why he came here — but there's no way to find out."