"Any cabman can tell you," was the answer. "Better ride out-—it's a cold walk."
It was cold, 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 Jasnifi 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
