"Don't know," said Will, grinning. "He didn't say."
Garrison rose to go.
"This is all of the utmost importance. I may be obliged to have you come down to New York—if I can find the man. But when you come it will be at my expense."
"The fishin's awful good right now," objected Will. "I don't know about New York."
"You can pick yourself out a five-dollar rod," added Garrison. "I'll wire you when to come."
Garrison left for Albany at once. He found himself obliged to take a roundabout course which brought him there late in the night.
In the morning he succeeded in running down a John W. Spikeman, who had served as Hardy's lawyer for many years.
The man was ill in bed, delirious, a condition which had lasted for several days. Naturally no word concerning the Hardy affair had come to his notice—hence his silence on the subject, a silence which Garrison had not heretofore understood.
He could not be seen, and to see him would have been of no avail, since his mind was temporarily deranged.
The utmost that Garrison could do was to go to the clerk at his office. This man, a very fleshy person, decidedly English and punctilious, was most reluctant to divulge what he was pleased to term the professional secrets of the office.