On the morning of the tenth day after the disappearance of Hall, Martin was standing on the steps of the hotel, waiting for Blount, when he suddenly caught sight of Mr. Stafford picking his way between the throng of wagons and cabs toward him.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the old gentleman, "it's as much as one's life is worth to cross here!"
"It is a dangerous spot," responded Martin, warmly returning the cordial greeting of Mr. Stafford. "How is Fred getting along?"
"He is improving. We have the right tonic for him I believe, but he is anxious to see you, and as I had to come to town, I was charged to bring you back with me. Ah! Here comes our friend. Good-morning, Mr. Blount."
Blount looked somewhat excited. In his hand he carried a telegraph envelope which he handed to Martin.
"By the way, Mr. Blount, I have just heard from Mr. Hall. He is at the Royal Hotel, in Dublin. If not too late you can communicate with him there. And now, Mr. Martin, I must be off, but I shall expect you to be ready to go with me at one o'clock. Good-morning, gentlemen!"
While Mr. Stafford had been talking, Martin was reading the following from a Dublin detective:
"Your party is at Royal Hotel. Is about buying property in Kildare."
He had caught what Mr. Stafford had said and looked at Blount in amazement. The latter looked staggered.
"Well, this beats all!" he exclaimed. "Here we've been looking all over the civilized world and just as we find him, the fellow sends us word himself! Either we are all wrong about him, or he's the cheekiest case I've yet met."