Hardman had come in at midnight, had
paid his bill, and departed on the one o'clock train.
"Did he say where he was going?" asked Frank of the clerk.
"I don't know. The night man was on, but we don't generally ask our
guests where they are going."
"I thought he might have left word where he wanted his mail forwarded."
"That's so, I believe he did," the clerk answered, for he knew Frank
quite well. He looked in the letter rack, and found a slip the night
clerk had left, directing that all mail for Mr. Hardman was to be sent to
the general delivery, Lockport.
"Lockport," murmured Frank, as he left the hotel. "That is a town close
to the other edge of the woods. I wonder what he can be doing there? Very
well, if he's in Lockport I'll go there, but I'm afraid I'll have
trouble finding him. However, I must try. He's likely to stop at a hotel,
and there can't be more than two or three in Lockport."
Somewhat discouraged over his failure to find Mr. Hardman, Frank went
back to his uncle's house. All that Sunday he remained indoors, though
his chums called in the afternoon, and wanted him to go for a walk.
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