Jacob shook his head.
"He left New York not long after you did," he answered. "He went to Chicago."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes, and I'll tell you why. He came here one evening and says: 'Jacob, I'm going away. You won't see me for a long time—I'm going to Chicago.'"
"Did he tell you why he was going there?"
"He said he was going there as an agent for a New York house—that he had a good chance."
"You have never seen him since?"
"No," said Jacob. Then he added meditatively: "Once I thought I saw him. There was a man I met in the street looking as likehim as two peas, makin' allowance for the years he was older. I went up to him and called him by name, but he colored up and looked annoyed, and told me I was quite mistaken; that his name wasn't Jones, but something else—I don't remember what now. Of course I axed his pardon and walked on, but he was the very picture of Rupert Jones."
"Then you feel sure that he went to Chicago?"
"Yes, he told me so, and that was the last time I saw him. If he had stayed in the city he would have kept on comin' to my place, or I should have met him somewhere."