America--I saw one of them."

"And where did he go, if you please?" asked Dave.

The tall woman drew up her angular shoulders and pursed up her thin
lips.

"If you'll pay that board money I'll help you to find him."

"Very well, if we find him I'll pay you the one pound and six
shillings," answered Dave. He did not wish to waste time that might be
valuable.

"Come in the parlor and I'll tell you what I know," said Kate Clever.

They entered the little musty and dusty parlor, with its old haircloth
furniture and its cheap bric-a-brac. The woman dusted two of the chairs
with her apron and told them to be seated.

"I am a poor widow," she explained. "I have to make my living by taking
boarders. This Jasniff paid me only one week's board. He said he
expected to get some money, but while I was waiting he took his bag and
box and slipped away one day when I was to market."

"I thought he had plenty of money," said Roger. "He ran away with
enough."

"Ran away with enough? Was he a thief?"

"Yes."

"O dear! Then I am glad he is out of my house. Really! we might all have
been murdered in our beds!" And the woman held up her thin hands in
horror.

After that she told what she could of Nick Jasniff. She said he had
spent a good part of his time, both day and night, down in the heart of
London, visiting the theaters and other places of amusement. Once he had
complained of being robbed of his pocketbook on a tram-car, and again he
had lost himself in Cheapside and fallen in with some thugs who had
tried to carry him into an alleyway. In the fight that followed he had
had an eye blackened and the sleeve torn from his coat. She had sewed on
the sleeve again, but he had paid her nothing for the work.

"He spoke once of visiting an old friend named Chesterfield, who lived
in Siddingate," said the woman. "He said he might meet his father there.
Maybe if you can find this Chesterfield you'll find him."

"We can try, anyway," answered Dave. "Is that all you can tell about
him?"

"I don't know of much else, Mr.---- I haven't learned your name yet."

"My name is David Porter. This is my friend Roger Morr."

"Porter? Why, I've heard that name somewhere." The woman mused for a
moment. "Why, yes, Nicholas Jasniff had a friend by that name--a
gentleman much older than you."

"A friend!" gasped Dave. "Oh, that can't be true, Mrs. Clever!"

"Well, I heard him say something about a man named Porter. They had met
somewhere--