And now she began wondering what she should do when she got to Dorfield, if the little man also left the train at that station.  Such an act on his part would prove that her suspicions were correct, in which case she would lead him straight to her grandfather, whom she would thus deliver into the power of his merciless enemies.

No; that would not do, at all.  If the man followed her from the train at Dorfield she dared not go to Peter Conant’s house.  Where, then, could she go?  Had she possessed sufficient money it might be best to ride past Dorfield and pay her fare to another station; but her funds were practically exhausted.  Dorfield was a much bigger town than Beverly; it was quite a large city, indeed; perhaps she could escape the supervision of the detective, in some way, and by outwitting him find herself free to seek the Conant’s home.  She would try this and circumstances must decide her plan of action.  Always there was the chance that she misjudged the little man.

As the conductor called the station the train halted and the girl passed the rear seat, where the man had his bare head half out the open window, and descended from the car to the platform.  A few others also alighted, to hurry away to the omnibuses or street car or walk to their destinations.

Mary Louise stood quite still upon the platform until the train drew out after its brief stop.  It was nearly six o’clock in the evening and fast growing dark, yet she distinctly observed the fat-nosed man, who had alighted on the opposite side of the track and was now sauntering diagonally across the rails to the depot, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his eyes turned away from Mary Louise as if the girl occupied no part of his thoughts.

But she knew better than that.  Her suspicions were now fully confirmed and she sought to evade the detective in just the way any inexperienced girl might have done.  Turning in the opposite direction she hastily crossed the street, putting a big building between herself and the depot, and then hurried along a cross-street.  She looked back now and then and found she had not been followed; so, to insure escape, she turned another corner, giving a fearful glance over her shoulder as she did so.

This street was not so well lighted as the others had been and she had no idea where it led to.  She knew Dorfield pretty well, having once resided there for three years, but in her agitated haste she had now lost all sense of direction.  Feeling, however, that she was now safe from pursuit, she walked on more slowly, trying to discover her whereabouts, and presently passed a dimly-lighted bakery before which a man stood looking abstractedly into the window at the cakes and pies, his back toward her.

Instantly Mary Louise felt her heart sink.  She did not need to see the man’s face to recognize the detective.  Nor did he stir as she passed him by and proceeded up the street.  But how did he happen to be there?  Had she accidentally stumbled upon him, or had he purposely placed himself in her path to assure her that escape from him was impossible?