“It came from Philadelphia.”
“I’m wrong, then. Not even dust flies in Philadelphia. Did Dalton send an answer?”
“Not that I know of; certainly not from our office.”
“Or volunteer any explanation?”
“No. It probably was a code message, or had some secret significance. He took the dispatch and departed.”
“A stranger to you, eh?”
“Total stranger. I don’t imagine the message amounted to anything. It appeared a bit odd, however, and—ah, here’s our grub,” Belden broke off abruptly. “The Martini is mine, waiter. Here’s luck, Joe.”
It was obvious to Nick that the discussion of the telegram was ended. He immediately arose and departed. He sauntered into the hotel office, then out through the adjoining corridor, which just then was deserted, of which he took advantage. He quickly adjusted a simple disguise with which he was provided, and he then passed out of a side door leading to the street. Nick was watching the café when the two men emerged. He followed them until Gordon parted from his companion and entered a large hardware store, where he evidently was employed.
Arthur Belden walked on leisurely alone, and Nick judged that he was heading for the main office of the Western Union Company, whose sign projected from a building some fifty yards away. The detective walked more rapidly, and quickly overtook him.
“How are you, Belden?” said he, slipping his hand through the young man’s arm. “Don’t appear surprised. Pretend that you know me. I have something to say to you.”