"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."
They filed into the apartment mentioned, a long, low room, the walls of which were lined with shelves filled with musty volumes. Dave kept his eyes on Jasniff, and this the runaway noticed.
"Think I'm going to skip?" he queried, sourly.
"I'll not give you the chance," was the ready answer.
"You think you've got me foul, don't you?"
"Doesn't it look like it?"