What he had to say merely substantiated what Jimmy Stiles had told them already. He was returning from a visit to his uncle on a Western Ontario farm, and had remained over in the city for a few days on his way home. While out for a Sunday morning constitutional he had been attracted to All Saints' Mission by its resemblance to the little church he attended at home. There he had been welcomed so cordially by Jimmy Stiles and others that it had been a great pleasure to him.
He described in detail his meeting with Jimmy, and their harmless chat in the Jessup Grill. He produced his travelling bag and insisted on opening it for inspection despite the fact that there was no possibility of confusing its travel-worn leather with the tan satchel. It contained merely the usual travel accessories, a magazine and a box of cigars. The latter Clayton insisted upon passing around. He then produced his business card and chatted for a moment with Alderson about conditions in the building trade in Pennsylvania, asking many questions about prospects in hardware lines in Ontario.
So that when at last he took his departure, laughing away apologies, he left behind him a most favorable impression. Detective McCorquodale departed next with a real cigar between his teeth and a feeling of satisfaction in the recognition that he was no longer a "blithering idiot." Stiles was told to "knock off for the day and go fishin'," and accepted Podmore's five-dollar bill only when it was forced on him.
When the trio were alone once more Alderson produced a bottle and three glasses.
"To the Campaign Fund," he laughed, holding his glass aloft.
"And the future of the Government," added J. Cuthbert Nickleby.
"And of ourselves," said Podmore reverently.
It was thus that they parted for the second time that afternoon.
Mr. Hugh Podmore went directly to his hotel. Not until he was safe in his own room did he permit any unusual elation to show in his manner. Once he had locked the door, however, and pulled down the window-blinds, he threw himself upon the bed and indulged in a toss of unrestrained mirth. Still very much amused, he felt in his pocket for the key of the old walnut wardrobe with which his room was furnished, unlocked it and lifted out a tan satchel.
Assuredly. In all fairness to himself he had to admit that it had been about as neat a piece of work as he had ever known. For a first attempt it had been carried through with credit, cleverly planned and as cleverly executed. Everything had gone like a clock. Robert Clayton, alias "Tuxedo Bob," had performed his end of it with commendable finish, and Podmore felt that he had made no mistake in hiring him to come on from Chicago. Fifty thousand dollars! It wasn't a bad afternoon's work—not at all bad!