“Just so, Bill.  I’m trying to catch a chap that owes me something, you see.  He’s in the ferry house there, waiting for the boat.  I’m going to follow him to Greenpoint, and find out where he lives.  Then I’ll have him arrested.  Now, there are two people I would like to have as witnesses, when I track him to his house.  The names are written here; and what I want of you is, to deliver these notes to them as soon as you can, and tell them to come right away.  Will you do it, Bill?”

“Won’t I, Mr. Bogert?  Jest tell me the names, streets, and numbers, cos I can’t read handwritin’ very well, yer know.”

Bog read the addresses, and, at the same time, produced a quarter from his fast-diminishing stock of silver.  “Take that,” said he.

“No yer don’t!” said the eccentric youth.  “You’ve done some good turns to me.  Bill Fish don’t forget his friends, I can tell yer.  Here goes, now.”

Bill Fish snatched the notes from Bog’s hand, and ran down the street after a stage which had just left the ferry house on its down trip.  Bog saw him seat himself on the step, with his head well hid from the driver, and sent a parting whistle after him, to which Bill Fish responded with an enormous grin and a jerk of thumb over shoulder at his natural enemy on the box.

“I’ll give Bill Fish a good job, some day,” mused Bog.  “Now for the scoundrel.”

The boat had come in.  Bog watched from his hiding place until he saw young Van Quintem step on board, and disappear in the ladies’ cabin.  Then he hastened to the ferry house, paid his fare, and entered.  To avoid being seen by young Van Quintem, he took a seat in that repository of stale tobacco-smoke called the “Gentlemen’s Cabin.”

At the Greenpoint landing, Bog watched young Van Quintem’s departure from the boat, and stole out, taking the opposite side of the street.  It was then quite dark, and, with reasonable precaution, there was no fear that the pursued would see him.

The young profligate walked up the street several blocks, and turned into a side street, occupied by residences, with small shops and groceries at the corners, and occasionally at intervals between them.  Suddenly, Bog observed him looking around, as if to be sure that he was not watched.  Bog slipped behind a large tree.  Having apparently come to the conclusion that nobody was observing him, young Van Quintem strode on rapidly a few rods farther, and then made a sharp turn into a neat little millinery shop, which stood quite remote from all other places of business.

When the young man’s form had disappeared, Bog ran at the top of his speed to a point opposite the shop, where he could readily see what was going on within.

The door was open and a strong light from the interior shone across the street.  There was no tree or awning post, or other object, on the sidewalk, behind which he could conceal himself.  Exactly opposite to the shop, and in the full blaze of its light, was a high door shutting on a small alley way.  Bog tried the latch, and found the door locked.  With instant decision, he caught the top of the door, and vaulted over it, trusting to fortune not to be caught on the inside.  Applying his eye to the keyhole, he observed the following condition of things: