Jim hurried up to the address the old man had given them. It was in a humble neighborhood, but the three rooms in which Anderson and his wife were living were neat and clean.
Jim did not want to raise false hopes, in the light of the imperfect information he had. So he told Anderson that he thought he had a clue, though he was not at all sure, as to the men who had run him down.
“Do you think you would be able to recognize the man who was driving, if you should see him?” Jim inquired.
“I’m sure I could,” answered Anderson. “He was on the side nearest me and I got a good look at his face just as the car bore down on me.”
“That’s good,” replied Jim. “Now if you’ll get ready and jump in with me, we’ll go down to where Mr. Matson is.”
The old man complied eagerly, and they were soon on their way down town.
Joe, in the meantime, had hovered in the vicinity of the telephone, waiting impatiently for the long distance call.
Shortly after nine o’clock it came.
“Is this Mr. Matson?” the voice inquired. “Good morning, Mr. Matson. This is Belden talking. I called up just now at the registry office and found that the number of Mr. Beckworth Fleming’s car is 36754. Did you get that? 3-6-7-5-4. Yes, that’s it. Not at all, Mr. Matson. Don’t mention it. Glad to be of service. Hope you win to-day. Good-bye.”