"Yes. I ran into McAllister, of the Recorder, and I was so surprised at seeing the editor of that yellow sheet there—well, he got quizzing me about one or two matters."
"How long after Stiles left you before you joined Ferguson?"
"Oh—five minutes, maybe. Why, what's all that got to do with it?" He regarded the look of triumph upon Podmore's face with some astonishment.
"It's as clear as daylight to me, J. C. In that five minutes almost anything might have happened. Many of the world's great events have happened in less than that. Hasn't it occurred to you that the package of money might be removed from the satchel and the paper substituted in Ferguson's office? The lock might have been sprung, you know."
Nickleby stared, his beady eyes narrowed in a frown of thought. Then he slapped the table with his open palm.
"By——!" he ejaculated.
"I'm inclined to fancy the whole thing is a cleverly arranged scare which those fellows have chosen to throw into us in order to protect themselves," went on Mr. Podmore, nodding with satisfaction at his own logic. "You can understand that, surely. If I am guessing correctly, they have succeeded in providing a fine denial of the fact that there ever was such a thing as our contribution to the Campaign Fund."
"I told you!" cried Alderson excitedly. "The Hon. Milt said he wouldn't have anything to do with it. He said we'd contribute at our own risk, didn't he?"
Nickleby rounded on him.
"Shut up, you jackass!" he ordered angrily.