He drew the letter from his pocket, and showed the date to the lawyer, who consulted his file, and then said—
“It is just as I expected. That letter was written ten days later than the one I received. Sorry I am unable to give you any definite assistance, Mr. Stranleigh.”
Stranleigh rose.
“I am sorry also. I suppose there wouldn’t be much use in telegraphing to the address he gives in Chicago?”
“I see no object in that. The place is probably a boarding-house, and he’s not there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ricketts. Good morning.”
Stranleigh went slowly down the steep stairs, and reaching the sidewalk, almost fell into the arms of Jim Dean. Here, then, was the man who had been following him.
“Good morning, Mr. Dean.”
“Morning,” snarled Jim, briefly.