“Thank you,” smiled the conductor. “And your address?”
“No. 20 Martin Street, Philadelphia.”
The conductor bowed and moved on.
“Martin Street,” thought Chick, instantly recalling the signature on the Dalton telegram. “Martin fits in here, all right. She told the truth, and I’ve picked up a very proper lead. It’s not such a long, long way to Tipperary, after all. We shall see.”
The woman left the train at Shelby, carrying only a suit case, and she accosted a cabman outside of the station.
“Shelby House,” she directed curtly.
Chick was at her elbow and heard her.
Ten minutes later he read her name inscribed on the hotel register: “Miss Janet Payson, Philadelphia.”
CHAPTER VI.
HOW PATSY MADE GOOD.
It was one o’clock when Chick Carter entered his room in the Shelby House. He removed his coat, hat, and disguise, then lit a cigar and sat down to size up the circumstances and the evidence he had found in the express car.