"Jasniff was at the Hotel Silverin," said Roger. "But he left there a little over two weeks ago."
"Did he leave any directions for forwarding mail?"
"Yes, here is the address." The senator's son drew a notebook from his pocket. "43, Pulford Road, Noxham."
"Let us look up the place," went on Dave, eagerly, and got out his map of London and its suburbs. It was in the northern end of the metropolis, and they found a railway running in that direction.
"We can't go to-night very well, but we can try it the first thing in the morning," said Dave; and so it was decided.
On arriving in the vicinity of 43, Pulford Road, the two youths found the neighborhood anything but first-class. The houses were old and dirty-looking and had about them a general air of neglect.
"What do you want?" demanded the tall and angular woman who answered their summons at the door.
"Good-morning, madam," said Dave, politely. "I am looking for a young gentleman named Nicholas Jasniff. I believe he boards here."
"Oh, so that's it," said the woman. She eyed Dave and Roger in a suspicious manner. "Who told you he was boarding here?"
"We heard so down at our hotel."