"Down, Wolf! Lie down!" cried McCausland, sternly. "There is blood on the edge. That may help us another time."
"Take it," said Shagarach. "But you lost the trail, you said."
"It vanished into the air. Wolf took us to the northern station, running me off my feet all the way—through the waiting-room, up and down the platform twice, inside track gate No. 5, and then—flatted fair and square. You know the random way he runs about when he's lost the scent? Our man had taken a train."
"The western express, 12:59," said Shagarach.
"How did you know?"
"I have had occasion to take the same train at track No. 5 on a visit to Woodlawn. Had he purchased a ticket?"
"No man with a cut on his face, or of our description."
"Then he has a trip ticket and lives there."
"Where?"
"At Woodlawn," said the lawyer. "Near Harry Arnold."