“It’s there all right,” whispered the one who had examined the book as he slipped out from behind the desk again. “‘Ned Nevins—Boston.’ I suppose he registered from there because he didn’t want to run any chances of being asked questions about Millville.”
“Shouldn’t wonder, Miles,” was the rejoinder of Hank Nevins, “but he didn’t reckon that we was just as slick as he is.”
The two “drug drummers” were Hank and his unsavory lawyer friend, Miles Sharkey. The two had been delayed in their pursuit of Ned by a very important handicap, namely, lack of funds. But on Hank having written to Mr. Mellville that they were on the track of the plans and had a good chance of securing them, the money for their expenses, (much to the surprise of both of them,) had been forwarded. They then lost no time in heading for Nestorville and laying plans for the recovery of the papers of the dead Jeptha Nevins.
When Landlord Hinkley came out of the telephone-booth, one of his new guests stepped up to him.
“Recollect a young chap named Nevins?” he asked. It may be said here that Hank and Miles had registered under assumed names.
“Nevins?” repeated the landlord. “Nevins? Well, I should just say I did.”
“Stop here long?” asked Miles insinuatingly.
“Quite a few days till he went to live with them Chadwick boys up on the hill yonder.”
Hank and Miles exchanged significant glances. They were on the trail indeed now.