Inwardly raging, Kendrick crept about, making anxious inventory of their hurts.

There was little use in voicing his amazement that they had been fired upon with unmistakable intent to do bodily harm and for such trivial cause. He had not dreamed that any gang of men would dare to carry out such an attack in Northern Ontario in these days of established law and order. These were not pioneer times and a dangerous situation like this in which they found themselves was out of place except in a moving picture. One could look for anything to happen in the photo plays which staged bloody scenes in a corner of a city park, called it “the Canadian wilds” and shot at least one man every thousand feet of film. But here in Northern Ontario, a few miles from the luxurious trans-continental passenger trains de luxe! Scum and all as these fellows were, they would not dare do this unless they were crazy with liquor.

There was ample proof that they were drunk enough for anything and in the face of the real danger of the situation nothing was to be gained by recriminations. It was through no fault of McIvor or his men that their bullets had not caused serious wounds or several fatalities. Phil was thankful to find that his little party had escaped. Their clothes were badly torn, of course, and all of them bore various scratches and bruises from contact with the forest undergrowth in the dark; but beyond the gash on Svenson’s head and another on Phil’s shoulder where a bullet had torn through his sleeve, they had escaped for the time being.

He found Cristy Lawson and young Jimmy Stiles in a nook behind the rocks, exchanging confidences with breathless interest. She had lighted a small candle and stuck it up in a recess where its feeble rays were hidden from outside view. She had brought along a canvas haversack into which she had thrust a number of things she had thought might be useful in an emergency, including sewing materials, a bottle of Mrs. Thorlakson’s special liniment and a package of sandwiches. The latter she had opened and Stiles had been munching away while she told him all that had taken place since she left Toronto nearly all, that is. But it was Stiles who was talking when Phil joined them talking so rapidly and excitedly that he was almost incoherent. At sight of Kendrick he stopped abruptly and when the girl turned, Kendrick noted that she was scarcely less agitated.

“Jimmy has something to say that you should know at once,” she explained hurriedly, averting her gaze. She seemed very much upset.

He hastened away to post McCorquodale and Svenson to watch for further demonstrations from the enemy. There was no sign of any intention on the part of Red McIvor’s men to assault the impregnable position. The whole gang seemed to have drawn off, for the present at least, and it would be impossible for any of them to creep up the hill without giving ample warning of their approach. So, cautioning both to keep their ears open and to call him at the first sign of further trouble, he slipped back to hear what Stiles had to say.

The story of the bookkeeper’s strange experience was so absorbing that it was not long before both his auditors completely forgot their surroundings. The gang of toughs in the camp below were running a consignment of cheap whisky and rum into the north country for distribution among the camps and various unscrupulous traders who would supply it to lumberjacks, trappers, construction gangs and even Indians in due season. This Red McIvor was a notorious character who was known in many an out-of-the-way corner of the North for the boldness of his operations and his defiance of the law.

But is was not just chance that had brought him into this part of the country on his present expedition. It was the money hidden in the stump. McIvor was open for any sideline in dishonesty that gave promise of lucrative returns and his agent, Weiler, had been very busy in Toronto recently. Somebody had tipped J. C. Nickleby as to Podmore’s underhand activities Ferguson, the lawyer, Stiles thought; but was not sure and Podmore had been watched closely and followed when he started West. Word had been passed to Red McIvor, who had lost no time in getting on the trail of this fifty-thousand-dollar pick-me-up, with the result that he had reached out a hairy arm, twisted his fingers in Mr. Podmore’s coat-collar and calmly dispossessed him of the sealed envelope which he had recovered from the stump. The chase which had ended thus had not been prolonged, as the city man had been no match for the experienced woodsman in the latter’s own environment.

When McIvor found that all he had for his efforts was a package of worthless stage money he was furious. He at once concluded that Podmore had tricked him and had hidden the real money. He trusted his eastern agent implicitly and neither Podmore’s own blank surprise when the envelope was opened or his most desperate protestations could change McIvor’s idea of the situation. Knowing the truth of the matter, Stiles had tried to save Podmore from the rough punishment meted out to him at McIvor’s camp, but his net return for his efforts was abuse; he dare not reveal too close a connection with the envelope as his own position already was too precarious.

On the night following his luncheon with Kendrick Stiles had gone back to the office to finish some work. He was in the habit of working on the books at night occasionally. He had no sooner let himself in than he became aware of a heated discussion that was going on behind the ground-glass partition which separated Alderson’s private office from the general office. One voice was Nickleby’s; the other he did not recognize, but from the tenor of the remarks he felt sure that what was going on was of vital interest to his friends. Instead of turning on the light, therefore, he had crept close to the partition.

He soon knew that the man alone with Nickleby in that office was Harrington Rives, late of the penitentiary, and that Rives had known Nickleby in the past. In fact, Rives was calmly advising Nickleby to remember that the police had long memories, and that away down south in the States was a certain institution which would be glad at any time to welcome home a prodigal no matter how often he changed his name. After this remark Nickleby had cooled down very quickly, as if realizing that he was in Rives’ power, and it was apparent to the eager youth in the outer office that the pair understood each other thoroughly. Judging by the clinking of glass and a certain recklessness of speech, both were drawing heavily upon Alderson’s stock of liquid “office supplies.”

Stiles had become so excited over his discovery that for the moment he had forgotten the danger of his own position. Accidentally he knocked his knee against the partition and the first thing he knew Nickleby and Rives came into the outer office on the run. They caught him just as he had reached the door.

When they realized that he had overheard their conversation his life had been in danger for an instant; for Nickleby was in a white-hot passion and would have choked him. But the ex-politician took the situation very coolly and dragged Nickleby loose somewhat roughly. There was no use in getting excited, he had advised calmly; there were other ways of taking care of this young man. Whereupon they had shut him inside the vault while they discussed the matter of his discreet disposal.

It was perhaps half an hour later that a closed cab had driven up the lane at the rear of the building. Two men were inside the vehicle, waiting for him. It was too dark for him to get a good look at them just then. They lost no time in tying a pocket-handkerchief around his ankles and blindfolding him with another. Rives and Nickleby remained behind at the office. Jimmy knew that his two custodians were “tough,” if their talk and manner meant anything, and whenever he tried to speak to them they told him to “shut up or we’ll knock your block off,” following up the threat with sundry kicks and blows.

“There’s your melodrama for you, Mr. Kendrick,” Cristy could not resist interpolating, “closed cab and all.”

They left the city and drove for most of the night along country roads. About dawn they reached their destination and when the bandage was removed Stiles found himself in an empty room that was so dusty and musty he came to the conclusion it was an empty house on some little travelled side road. As soon as it grew light enough to take an inventory of his surroundings Stiles went to the window, but could see nothing except hills, valleys and bushland. Not a single habitation was in sight. He found out later that the place was down near Stockton, somewhere back in Clam Creek Valley, many miles from the city; it was from the Stockton station that they afterwards boarded the train.

Food was brought in to him regularly three or four times by a toothless old woman who refused to talk. They watched him too closely for any attempt at escape, one of his guards remaining in the room all day.

The next night he heard voices and a general stirring about the place and before long he knew that Rives had arrived. He came into the room with the two men who had ridden in the cab and they tried to make Stiles tell what he knew about the missing campaign fund money. It had been a bad half hour that followed; but at last they decided that he really knew nothing about the matter.

Rives had sent the other two out of the room then and had adopted a less truculent manner. He told Stiles that he had no desire to do him any injury and that no harm would befall him if he did exactly as he was told. It was necessary that Jimmy disappear completely for a while, and accordingly they had arranged for him to take a little holiday trip into Northern Ontario with the two “boys” who had ridden with him the night before. If he agreed to go with them and to make no attempt to escape or create a disturbance he would be treated with every consideration. There was no reason, Rives said, why the trip would not prove a genuine holiday jaunt; there would be canoeing, fishing, camping out, plenty to eat and so on and he would be back after a while with a fine coat of tan and, if he behaved himself, money in his pocket.

With his voice dropped suddenly to a strictly confidential tone, Rives had then informed Jimmy that the missing campaign fund money had been located at a place called Thorlakson, west on the C.L.S. railway, hidden in a certain stump beside a water-tank. Very carefully he led up to the proposal that Stiles should attempt to secure this money without the knowledge of his camp-mates. It was then that Jimmy had learned from Rives about Red McIvor and the logging-camp where the party was to gather; that the station at which they would leave the train was called Indian Creek, and that it was the next station beyond Thorlakson just a few miles away. Rives said that both Red McIvor and a man named Podmore were after the money and he was afraid that if they secured it they would steal it whereas he, Rives, was anxious to restore it to the rightful owner. If Jimmy would help him to do this, get the money and turn it over to him, he would see that he was suitably rewarded. If Jimmy refused to fall in with the plan outlined, the alternative was a jail sentence; for it had been only with great difficulty that he had persuaded Nickleby to refrain from putting Stiles in jail on a charge of theft.

Jimmy had pretended to be duly impressed and grateful to Rives. He had agreed promptly to the proposal. The situation suddenly had become so ludicrous that he had experienced great difficulty in maintaining the proper solemnity. The opportunity of getting to Thorlakson where he could report his discoveries to Miss Lawson was the thing he most desired.

But he had failed to reckon the possibility that he would be unable to escape. It had seemed to be an easy thing to give his two companions the slip; but when they detrained at Indian Creek he had been inveigled into assisting with the unloading of the canoes, and on his first trip to the creek a short distance from the station, he had found himself forced into the Indian guide’s canoe and carried beyond reach of help.

He had planned then to escape after they reached the abandoned logging camp, steal a canoe and come back to the railway line and down to Thorlakson on a handcar or a freight train. But again he had not reckoned on the number of men with whom he would have to deal at the camp. McIvor’s party proper consisted only of three men beside himself; but the half-breeds and others who had been invited for a spree began to straggle in till escape became almost impossible. They caught him the first time he tried it and after that he had been guarded more closely. It was plain to him that Nickleby, knowing of this McIvor expedition, had paid McIvor’s agent to carry him into the heart of the wilderness with them and to keep him away from civilization.

In the light of this recital of the facts the presence of Jimmy Stiles was no longer an unbelievable coincidence, but a logical outcome. Nickleby, having made a dicker with McIvor’s man to recover the money from the stump before Podmore could get it, had attempted to kill two birds with one stone by having McIvor take Stiles with him on his expedition beyond the outposts of civilization. In doing that Nickleby had no means of knowing that he was defeating his own ends by putting Stiles within reach of friends.

The end of the narrative found Kendrick full of eager questions. The definite knowledge that Nickleby had a police record, that Rives knew this and had looked him up on the strength of it, that the two had their heads together all this boded no good, as Phil saw it. Nathaniel Lawson and Benjamin Wade apparently had been justified in their worst suspicions of Nickleby. Kendrick asked Stiles for further details of the conversation he had overheard between Nickleby and Rives. Had he been able to catch all that was said? Was there any indication that the two were planning further mischief?

“They dropped their voices pretty low once or twice,” replied Jimmy with some hesitation, “but I got the most of it.” He looked across at Cristy Lawson and cleared his throat in such evident embarrassment that Phil glanced quickly at the girl.

“What is it, Miss Lawson, please? You and Jimmy are keeping something back. Why? Is there something you think I ought not to know?”

She looked up at that and he was surprised at the diffidence reflected in her manner.

“It isn’t that it is anything you should not know,” she said with an effort to choose her words carefully. “On the contrary, you should know it. But it is never pleasant to be the bearer of bad news.”

“‘Nothing is ever so bad that it might not be worse,’” he quoted, endeavoring to cover his anxiety by a smile. “What is it, please?”

“It is about your uncle, Mr. Kendrick.” She turned to face him squarely and spoke rapidly. “We have undeniable proof that the Honorable Milton Waring is in collusion with Nickleby and, incidentally, Rives and they are planning to misuse the funds of the Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company. They are meeting about midnight on the twenty-seventh at your uncle’s house over on the Island to close a deal which involves control of Interprovincial stock. Nickleby has agreed to dispose of his holdings and those of his clique at grossly inflated prices and to provide the money for the purchase by a large loan with very inadequate collateral security. In plain language it is a huge steal which may mean, possibly, that the loan company will have to close its doors.”