“That’s true, too.” The man turned again to the clerk. “You are sure you don’t know where to find Mr. Garrison?”
“I haven’t the least idea where he has gone to.”
The other man had walked to the rear and glanced into the private office.
“Did Mr. Garrison have a satchel with him when he left?” he asked.
“He has a dress-suit case with him.”
“Humph!”
Frank listened to the talk with close attention. Then he arose and turned to the man who had been addressed as Mason.
“Excuse me, sir, but is your name Bardwell Mason?” he questioned.
“It is. Who are you?”
“I am Frank Hardy. My father is Thomas Hardy, of Claster.”