“Don’t ask me,” he says. “Make up some plan for yourself.”
“I s’pose he’ll try and get away by some of the railroads?” I says. “I might go and watch for him at the depot.”
“Can you watch all the depots at once, Doyle?” he says, laughing. “Then there’s the steamboats, too, and you know he might take a notion to walk.”
I saw at once that he was right; then I asked him again what he’d do if he was in my place, and owned right up that I had no ideas.
He thought a few minutes, and then he said:
“Where does this man Camm live?”
“Don’t know,” I says. “The paper says he is a bachelor, and used to live in Forty-sixth street, but he gave up his room three weeks ago.”
“Where did he come from?”
“Paper says he was born in Middlebury, Vermont,” I says.
Then he went and got a geography and looked on the map.