The train pulled in and out again, leaving him at the far end of the
platform, mopping his harassed brow. He had visited the chair-cars and had
seen no one answering the description. A half-dozen passengers huddled off
and wandered away in the darkness.

"I'll bet my head she's in one of those sleepers," he groaned, as he
watched the lights on the rear coach fade away into the night. "It's all
off till to-morrow, that's settled. My only hope is that she really
stopped in Albany. There's a train through here at three in the morning;
but I'm not detective enough to unravel the mystery of any woman's berth.
Now, where the deuce am _I_ to sleep?"

As he looked about dismally, disconsolately, his hands deep in his
pockets, his straw hat pulled low over his sleepy eyes, the station agent
came up to him with a knowing grin on his face.

"'Scuse me, boss, but she's come," he said, winking.

"She? Who?"

"Her. The young lady. Sure! She's lookin' fer you over in the
waitin'-room. You mus' 'a' missed her when she got off--thought she
wasn't comin' up till to-morrer. Mus' 'a' changed her mind. That's
a woming all over, ain't it?"

Rossiter felt himself turn hot and cold. His head began to whirl and his
courage went fluttering away. Here was a queer complication. The quarry
hunting for the sleuth, instead of the reverse. He fanned himself with his
hat for one brief, uncertain moment, dazed beyond belief. Then he