“I don’t know,” I replied flatly.

I returned to my breakfast, and, seeing I would not converse further, the man passed on and sat down.  But I felt that his eyes were on me, and instinctively I made up my mind to be on my guard.

As I was about to leave the place, several more passengers came in, and by what they said I learned that the train would not start for Chicago till noon, the bridge being so badly damaged that the road engineer would not let anything cross until it was propped up.

Not caring to go back to the train, I entered the waiting-room and took in all there was to be seen.  At one end of the place was a news stand, and I walked up to this to look at the picture papers that were displayed.

I was deeply interested in a cartoon on the middle pages of an illustrated paper when I heard Mr. Price’s voice asking for some Chicago daily, and then making inquiries as to where the telegraph once was located.

He did not see me, and I at once stepped out of sight behind him.

Having received his directions, Mr. Price sat down to write out his telegram.  Evidently what he wrote did not satisfy him, for he tore up several slips of paper before he managed to prepare one that suited him.

Then he arose, and throwing the scraps in a wad on the floor, walked away.

Unobserved, I picked up the wad.  Right or wrong, I was bound to see what it contained.  Perhaps it might be of no earthly interest to me; on the other hand, it might contain much I would desire to know.  Strange things had happened lately, and I was prepared for all sorts of surprises.

A number of the slips of paper were missing and the remainder were so crumpled that the pencil marks were nearly illegible.

At length I managed to fit one of the sheets together and then read these words:—­

  C. Hholtzmann>, Chicago: 

  Look out for a young man claiming to—­

CHAPTER XXIII

 In Chicago

I had not been mistaken in my opinion of Mr. Allen Price.  He was following me, and doing it with no good intention.

I concluded the man must be employed by Mr. Woodward.  Perhaps I had seen him at some time in Darbyville, and so thought his face familiar.

I was glad that if he was a detective I was aware of the fact.  I would now know how to trust him, and I made up my mind that if he got the best of me it would be my own fault.

One thing struck me quite forcibly.  The merchant and John Stumpy both considered my proposed visit to Chris Holtzmann of importance.  They would not have put themselves to the trouble and expense of hiring some one to follow me if this was not so.  Though Mr. Aaron Woodward was rich, he was close, and did not spend an extra dollar except upon himself.

I was chagrined at the thought that Holtzmann would be prepared to receive me.  I had hoped to come upon him unawares, and get into his confidence before he could realize what I was after.