old, with the snow covering the ground to the depth of two
inches or more. The air was very raw, and a regular London fog was
settling down over the land.

A cabman was readily found, and inside of a few minutes they were on
their way to the Philip Chesterfield estate. From the driver they
learned that this Chesterfield was an old man, rather peculiar in his
ways, and that he entertained visitors but seldom.

"It would be queer for Nick Jasniff to visit such a man," remarked Dave.
"But I don't want to let any chance of locating him slip by."

"Nick may be glad enough to get a roof over his head, if his money is
gone," answered Roger.

The cab presently turned up a side road and approached the stone wall of
a fair-sized estate, the mansion of which stood back in a patch of old
trees. As they entered the gateway Dave saw a door open and a boy came
out on a veranda.

"There he is!" he gasped. "There is Nick now!"

"You're right!" exclaimed the senator's son. "This is luck, and no
mistake."

As the cab came closer Nick Jasniff gazed at it curiously, to see whom
it might contain. Not to be recognized too quickly, Dave kept his face
averted and cautioned his chum to do the same.

"Say! I say----" began the youth who had run away, when Dave leaped out
and confronted him. "Whe--where did you come from?"

"From Oak Hall," answered Dave, coolly. "I fancy you didn't expect to
see me so soon, Jasniff."

"Humph!" The runaway boy did not know what to say. "I--er---- Been
following me up, I suppose?"

"I have."

"You didn't expect me, did you?" put in Roger, with a grin.

"I didn't," growled Nick Jasniff. "Any more?" and he gazed anxiously
into the cab, half expecting an officer of the law to put in an
appearance.

"No more just now," said Dave, with peculiar emphasis.

"What do you want?" Jasniff was gradually regaining his self-possession.

"I want a whole lot of things," answered Dave. "Do you want to do your
talking here or in the house?" And he glanced at the cab driver, who was
staring at the boys with his mouth open in curiosity.

"You can come in, if you wish," was the awkward answer; and Nick Jasniff
led the way into the old mansion, which was semi-dark and not more than
half warmed. "Do you know who lives here?" he continued.

"Your relative, Philip Chesterfield," answered Roger.

"Humph! He's a great-uncle of mine and very old. He is down with gout.
Come into the library. We needn't disturb him."