I never saw a man so hard to find as Uncle Hieronymous was. We met men who had seen him, and we went into places where he’d been, but nobody knew where he’d gone or if he’d be back. This kept up till after ten o’clock.
“If he’s h-h-hard for us to find,” says Mark, “he must be hard for them to f-f-find.”
There wasn’t a great deal of comfort in that, but we took all we could get.
I saw by a jewelry-store clock it was a quarter to eleven, and just then a man spoke to Mark Tidd.
“Be you the kid that was askin’ after Hieronymous Bell last night?”
“Yes,” says Mark.
“I seen him,” says the man; and then I recognized his voice. He was the lumberman that was talking with Jiggins & Co. the night before. “I seen him,” says he, “with them two fellers, the fat one and the lean one. And there was another feller, too. Feller by the name of Siggins, lawyer. Not one of those here big lawyers that git to be judges, but a leetle one that goes slinkin’ around corners. I calc’late he hain’t no fit companion for Hieronymous.”
“Where’d they g-g-go?” Mark asked, quick.
“Looked like they was headin’ for Siggins’s office.”
“Where’s that?”