“Do you mean Duncan, the traveling man from Des Moines?”

“Yes,” replied Manning, “that’s the man; I am a traveling man myself, but in a different line, and I expected to meet him in this city, but I was disappointed.  I guess he must have got ahead of me.”

“Let me see,” said Mr. Griswold, with his needle-pricked finger pressed against his nose.  “He was here about two weeks ago, I guess.”

“Do you know which way he was going?”

“I think he said he was going to St. Paul.  I made a suit of clothes for him in a great hurry, as he was very anxious to get away.”

“What kind of a suit did he get?” asked Manning, now anxious to learn the clothing of the man, in order that he might the more accurately describe him.

“It was from this piece,” said Mr. Griswold, throwing on the table a roll of dark green cassimere.  “That is one of the latest importations, and as fine a piece of goods as I have in the house.”

“I like that myself,” said the detective.  “Would you object to giving me a small piece of it as a sample?  I want to show it to a friend of mine at the hotel, who has pretty good taste in such matters.”

“Of course not,” replied Mr. Griswold, as he clipped off a piece of the cloth, little dreaming of the use to which the detective would put it.

Declining to make a selection until he had sought the advice of an imaginary friend, and stating that he would probably call again in the evening, Manning took his leave of the little tailor.  The detective then repaired to the railroad ticket office, where he had a friend of long standing, from whom he hoped to derive some material information.

At the railroad station he found his friend on duty, and after the usual friendly salutations, he requested a few moments’ private conversation.  Being admitted to an inner office, Manning at once displayed the photograph of Duncan, and asked: 

“Harry, have you seen that face about here, say within about two weeks?”

Taking the picture, and regarding it intently for a moment, he said: 

“Why, yes—­that’s Duncan from Des Moines.  I know him very well.  He has been here often.”

“Well, has he been here within two weeks?”

“Yes, he was here about two weeks ago on a spree, and he bought a ticket for St. Paul.”

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“Perfectly sure,” answered the ticket agent.  “I remember it distinctly, and what impressed it the more forcibly upon my mind is the fact that he wanted to know if I could give him a ticket on the Northern Pacific road from here, and I told him he would have to go to St. Paul for that.”

“Did he mention any particular point on the railroad that he wanted a ticket for?” asked Manning.

“No, I think not.  He simply said he was making for Dakota.”

Ascertaining that a train would leave for St. Paul in an hour, the detective purchased a ticket for that city, and thanking the agent for his information, he returned to the hotel to make arrangements for continuing his journey.  Before leaving, however, he telegraphed me his destination, and what he had been able to learn.