“Let’s have a look at them.”
“Certainly, sir, and I’ll assist you,” Hewitt readily assented. “Open the door, Jim, for the gentleman to enter. Walk into my private office, Mr.——”
“Chickering,” said Chick dryly.
“We’ll very soon examine them, Mr. Chickering,” Hewitt added, pulling a wastebasket from under his desk. “Take a seat. We need to examine only the yellow stubs and those having a name on them, and that may be quickly done.”
It was not in Chick’s nature to nurse resentment, and he now met the much more gracious manager halfway. Less than fifty of the stubs had been inspected and compared with the coupon when the desired one was found. There could be no mistaking it, and on the back of it was written the name: “Nellie Fielding.”
Hewitt called in his assistant and questioned him, showing him the ticket.
“That’s your writing, Jim,” said he. “Do you remember selling the woman the ticket, or——”
“Remember—sure thing,” interrupted the other. “She comes here every week. I know her well by sight and where she works.”
“Very good,” said Chick, suppressing his elation. “Where is she employed?”
“She’s a waitress in Boyden’s restaurant, in Middle Street. You’ll find her there at any hour of the day.”