Podmore, who was in league with Nickleby; she had dealings
with Jimmy Stiles who, according to Nathaniel Lawson, was very much
under Nickleby's thumb. There was enough Nickleby mixed up in it for
all sorts of possibilities. He wondered what Podmore knew about her.

There was the next move for him to make--go and see Podmore and find
out. He got to his feet at once and started for the nearest street-car
line. He ought to be able to catch Podmore just finishing a late
breakfast at the Queen's.

"Sorry, sir, but Mr. Podmore checked out last night," the clerk
informed him when at last he reached the hotel.

"Checked out?" echoed Phil in surprise. "Last night, you say? Did he
leave any message for me?"

"No, sir."

"And you don't know where he went, eh?"

"I'm sorry, sir; but he didn't say. I believe the porter took some
baggage for him over to the Union Station; so he's evidently gone out
of town."

Kendrick walked off slowly. It was not hard to guess whither the
time-serving Mr. Podmore was bound. He was running true to form and
Phil grinned as he thought of the surprise that lay awaiting in the
hollow stump beside the tank at the Thorlakson siding. It would be
worth something to see the expression on Podmore's face when he opened
that fake envelope of Wade's with its bogus bills.

Well, he could eliminate Podmore for the present. What now? Had he
better go down to Ferguson's office and boldly demand from the haughty
Miss Williams answers to a few pointed questions, or had he better
locate Stiles first and choke the truth out of him? He glanced at his
watch. Nat Lawson would be expecting him to call for that letter to
Wade and he decided to go there first. After that he would be free to
follow his own investigations in his own way.

Nathaniel Lawson was at work in the garden, but went into the house at
once for the letter and insisted on Phil going inside for a cigar.

"Now you sit down in that big chair there, Kendrick. I'm the
celebrated inventor of a new phosphate drink that ought to hit the spot
on a morning like this. Trouble nothing, sir! I was just on the point
of mixing one for myself. Make yourself at home, my boy. I won't be
long."

Kendrick lounged gratefully in the comfortable leather chair. He had
not realized just how hot it was outside until he found himself thus
ensconced in the cool interior of what his host had called "the den."
A good old scout, Nat Lawson.

Phil had