“Well, sir, it suddenly occurred to me that I might be suspected of stealing it,” Nellie explained, blushing again. “That thought alarmed me, and I was anxious only to leave the hospital and go home as quickly as possible. That is why, too, I gave the physician a false name and address. I wanted to wash my hands of the whole affair and avoid any publicity.”
“Very good. I don’t much blame you,” Chick laughed, with a nod of approval. “I guess you have told me a straight story, Miss Fielding.”
“I have told you the truth, sir,” she said earnestly. “I hope nothing more will——”
“Oh, there is nothing for you to fear,” Chick hastened to assure her. “Say nothing about it to others or about me, and you probably will hear no more of it. If you do learn anything more, however, write for me to call and see you. A line to John Blaisdell, Wilton House, will reach me.”
Miss Fielding promised to comply, and wrote the name on a sheet of paper.
Chick said a few more words to reassure her, and he then departed and hastened to the corner of Main and Maple Streets, where the girl had so mysteriously lost consciousness. He saw at a glance that the surroundings, aside from the lunch cart a few rods away, would have been favorable at midnight for the knavish trick that he now was sure had been turned.
Crossing over, he found the proprietor of the lunch cart alone, and he called him to the door, a shrewd, keen-eyed Irish chap in the twenties.
“I’m looking into a job that was pulled off about twelve o’clock night before last,” Chick informed him. “Did you happen to see a girl standing alone on the opposite corner about that time?”
“Faith, sir, I did,” nodded the other quickly. “I was here at my door, sir, hoping to hook onto some customers from the theater. The girl stopped under the lamp and was looking at something.”
“That’s the one,” said Chick. “Do you know how long she remained there?”