wallet. "What does it mean? The
pocket-book is empty and that--"

"Might mean almost anything," completed Tom. "But it's a clew all
right! He's been here, and I'm pretty certain he was brought here in
the auto with the odd tires--the one Mr. Damon and I saw traces of the
night we heard the cries for help."

"But that doesn't help us now," said Jackson. "The point is to find out
how lately Mr. Nestor was here, and what has happened to him since.
There isn't anything in the wallet, is there?"

"Nothing," answered Tom, making a careful examination so as to be sure.
"It's as empty as a last year's bird nest. He's been robbed--that's
what has happened to Mr. Nestor. He was waylaid that night, instead of
being run down as I thought--waylaid and robbed and then his body was
brought here."

"There you go again, Tom! Jumping to conclusions!" said Jackson, with a
friendly smile, and with the familiarity of an old and valued helper.
"Maybe he's in perfectly good health. Just because you found his empty
wallet doesn't argue that your friend is in serious trouble. He may
have dropped this on the road and some one picked it up. I'll admit
they may have taken whatever was in it, but that doesn't prove
anything. The thing for us to do is to find out who knows about this
shack; who owns it, on whose land it is, and whether any one has been
seen here lately."

"They've been here lately whether they've been seen or not," said Tom
positively. "There are the auto tracks. It rained two days ago, and the
tracks were made since. Mr. Nestor must have been here within two days."

"He may or may not," said Jackson. "Say, rather, that some one was here
and left his wallet after him. Now see if we can find other clews!"

They looked about in the fast fading light, but at first could discover
nothing more than evidences that three or four persons had been living
in the shack and at some recent date--probably within a day or two.

They had had their meals there and had slept there. But this seemed to
be all that could be established, other than that Mr. Nestor's wallet
was there, stripped of its contents.

Tom was looking through the closet, from which a frightened chipmunk
sprang as he opened the door. There were the remains of some food,
which accounted for the presence of the little striped animal. And, as
Tom poked about, his hand came in contact with something wrapped in
paper on an upper shelf. It was something that clinked metallicl