"Do you mean to say you know something of this case?" demanded Dick eagerly.
"Perhaps I do. Describe this Dan Baxter as well as you can, will you?"
"Certainly." And Dick did so.
"It is the same fellow. I met him last night, down near the lumber wharves. You see, I am a lumber merchant from Brooklyn, and I have an interest in a lumber company up here."
"You saw Baxter? Was he alone?"
"No, there was another man with him, a tall, slim fellow, with an unusually sour face."
"Josiah Crabtree to a T!" burst out Dick. "Did you notice where they went?"
"I did not. But I overheard their talk. They spoke about a boat on the Hudson River, the Flyaway. They were to join her at Albany."
"Who was to join her?"
"This Baxter, if it was he, and somebody else—a man called Muff, or something like that."
"Mumps! You struck them, sure enough! But did they say anything about the girl?"
"The tall man said that he would see to it that she was there—whatever he meant by that."
"I can't say any more than you, Mr. Castor. But I guess they are going to carry Dora Stanhope through to Albany, from all appearances."
"Then perhaps you had better follow."
