It was to this place that Patsy hurried to make the change that would prevent him from being recognized by the Brown Robin.
It did not take him long, and when he turned out into the street again, in his dress suit and mustache, he looked like a veritable young man about town—a handsome swell.
He had supposed when he left the room where he made the change that he would have to return to the neighborhood where Chick had made his great discovery, to pick up Chick’s trail.
But he had barely stepped through the main entrance to the hotel when he saw, on the pavement directly in front, a roughly-drawn arrow in red chalk, the head pointing to the north.
It was Chick’s trail.
“Great luck!” exclaimed Patsy to himself, as he hurried up to the corner. “I’m on as the flag falls.”
At the corner the sign showed that Chick had crossed the street to the west side of Broadway, but on reaching the corner on that side, Patsy could see nothing that indicated further direction.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Patsy. “They have taken a car.”
He went back to the middle of the street, and, looking about carefully, saw some pieces of paper.
He looked for a trail of them, but the wind had evidently blown them away.