gunwagner and felix agree upon a plan.Gunwagner’s face grew more and more avaricious. The plan looked well to him, and he felt it would be a great thing to have Mortimer in a rich banking house. The possibilities of bold pilferings from the heaps of gold were most tempting to him, and he was now quite ready to commit himself to anyfeasible scheme to carry out Mortimer’s evil design. The old fence was an unscrupulous man, and he was ready to go to almost any length in crime to avail himself of an opportunity so tempting to his greed of gain.The two confederates discussed the matter for some time, and at length they agreed upon a plan of action, which boded ill for our hero.CHAPTER VI.A RAY OF SUNSHINE.Young Randolph entered upon his duties at once, but of course did little more during the day than familiarize himself with the work that had been assigned to him. Toward evening a ray of sunshine burst joyously into the bank, and threw a bright cheerful glow over the office.Ray Goldwin, the light hearted, merry daughter of the senior partner, with her sunny face and winning manners, was like a clear June morning.Little acts go far, many times, to make one happy or quite miserable. It so happened that our hero had been doing some writing for Mr. Goldwin’s own personal use. It lay upon his desk and was admirably done. It was, in fact, like copper plate. The whole arrangement of the work was artistic and in the best of taste.“Oh, papa, who did this beautiful writing for you?” said Ray, enthusiastically.“Our new clerk, Mr. Randolph,” responded her father, nodding his head in the direction of Herbert. The latter felt his cheeks grow rosy at this compliment.“Mr. Randolph,” continued the banker, “will you kindly help me take these parcels out to my carriage?”“Certainly, sir, with pleasure,” replied Herbert, politely.young randolph handed ray into thecarriage with just enough embarrassmentin his manner to interest her.Ray Goldwin looked at him with surprise; and his handsome face and fine form attracted even more than a passing glance from her.“I want to run up to the corner of Broadway,” said Mr. Goldwin, when they had reached the door. “John, you may call for me,” he continued, addressing the coachman; “I will be ready by the time you get there.”Young Randolph handed Ray into the carriage, with just enough embarrassment in his manner to interest her. Then he placed the parcels on the seat beside her, receiving meanwhile a smile and a look that fully rewarded him. Raising his hat, he turned away, and as the coachman drove off he made a hasty retreat for the bank, from which the sunshine now seemed to have departed.When he started for home at the close of business hours, two figures stood on the opposite side of the street, a little nearer Broadway.As Herbert opened the outer door, preparatory to passing out, he took a position that brought his eyes directly upon them. One of them, uneasily, but perhaps quite naturally, placed a hand on the shoulder of his companion, while with the other he pointed directly at Herbert. Then, as if realizing that possibly he had been detected in this act, he nervously pointed to something on the top of the building, and all the while talked rapidly. This was sufficient to arrest our hero’s attention. He watched the two sharply for a few minutes while standing upon the steps of the banking house.Under his direct gaze they appeared somewhat nervous, and finally moved off in the direction of Broadway. Herbert followed them, or rather followed out his purpose to go up to City Hall Park, and find, if possible, Bob Hunter. Before reachingBroadway, however, the two young fellows who had pointed at him stopped and peered into a show window, thus bringing their backs full upon Herbert as he passed them.He knew so little of city life that he was slow to form an opinion, thinking that what seemed odd and suspicious to him would perhaps be all right in New York. He therefore dismissed the matter from his mind, and watched with amazement the crowds of men who at that hour of the day were pouring up Broadway, on their way home from business.“What a great city this is!” he thought; “and it is American, too. I wonder if any of the cities of the Old World can turn out such a lot of business men as these!”The boy was right in asking himself this question. The wonder he felt was natural, for a finer body of men can rarely be found than the business men of New York. And now he joined the stream that flowed northward. The massive buildings, tall and stately, on either side of Broadway, captured his admiration, and he gazed upon them with open mouthed amazement.Stone buildings with gigantic pillars and massive walls; buildings ten or a dozen stories high, and mighty spires raising their tops afar up in mid air—all these added to the country lad’s wonder and astonishment. He passed by the Western Union building, the Evening Post building, and now paused in front of the Herald office to read the “headings” on the bulletin board.After being thus engaged for a few moments, he turned suddenly around, and, to his surprise, saw the two young fellows who had attracted his attention on Wall Street. One of them had a look about him that seemed familiar, and yet he could not tell where he had seen him. His figure, his eyes,and the shape of his face were not unlike Felix Mortimer; and yet he looked older than the latter by two or three years, for he wore a small mustache and tiny side whiskers. Seeing these same fellows the second time, and noticing that they were apparently watching him, made Herbert feel a trifle uneasy. But he was not easily worried or frightened.Bob Hunter was in, as on the previous night, and very glad he seemed at his friend’s good success in getting so desirable a position. He listened to Herbert’s story of the contest with much interest, and then added thoughtfully:“It might be a good idea to look out for that feller that seemed to get down on you so. He probably knows you are a stranger in the city, and——”“Do you think there is any danger?” interrupted Herbert.“No, I can’t say as there is; but he might think, if he could get you out of the way, he would get the place with the banker. You said he was disappointed.”“Yes, he showed his disappointment very much.”“Well, nothing may come of it. You keep your eye on me, and I’ll steer you through all right, I reckon.”Herbert was upon the point of telling Bob his suspicions about the two fellows that seemed to be shadowing him, and then it occurred to him that he might magnify the matter, and work himself into a state of uneasiness when it would be better to give it no thought whatever. Therefore he said nothing to the newsboy about them.When they had finished dinner a little later, Bob asked him if he could manage to pass away an hour or so alone.“Certainly, if you have an engagement,” replied Herbert.“I go to an evening school; but if you’ll be lonesomealone, why, I’ll stay with you till you learn a thing or two about the city.”“Oh, I shall be all right,” said our hero, confidently. “Don’t think of remaining away from school on my account. I can enjoy looking at the sights here in the Bowery for a while; then I will go to the room, and read till you come.”“All right. I’ll do as you say; but now you look out, Vermont, and don’t get lost.”Bob seemed to have a fondness for calling his friend by this name, and the latter indulged him in the peculiarity without objection.After a while, young Randolph drifted up to one of the Bowery dime museums, and stood there for some time reading the announcements, looking at the pictures, and watching the crowd that ebbed and flowed up and down that thoroughfare.Presently a young fellow of about his own age, who had for some time been standing near him, made a casual remark about a comical looking person who had just passed by. Our hero looked up, and seeing that the remark had been addressed to him, he replied promptly. A conversation between him and the stranger followed. Herein Herbert showed the trustfulness characteristic of a country boy. He knew he was honest himself, and did not once suspect that the agreeable young man was playing the confidence game upon him.CHAPTER VII.BOB HUNTER THOROUGHLY AROUSED.When Bob Hunter returned from the evening school to his room, he expected to find young Randolph there.“He promised to be here,” said Bob to himself; “I hope nothing has happened to him.”The newsboy’s manner showed some alarm. He felt anxious about his friend.“Something has gone wrong, I believe, or he would surely come,” continued Bob, after waiting for a full half hour; “but I can’t imagine what has steered him on to the wrong track.”Another half hour went by, and Herbert did not put in an appearance.“I might’s well stay here, I s’pose, as to go ’n’ prowl round this town huntin’ for Vermont,” said Bob, thoughtfully. “But I guess I’ll see if I can strike his trail. Any way I’ll feel better, ’cause I’ll know I’ve done something. It’s no use to let a feller like him be run into these dens, if the game can be stopped.”An hour’s fruitless hunt, in and about the Bowery, failed to reveal Herbert’s whereabouts to the anxious searcher. He was unable to find any one who remembered to have seen him.After giving up all hope of learning what he wished to find out, Bob hurried back to his room, with a feeling of anxiety quite new to him. He had taken a great liking to our hero, and now felt thoroughly alarmed, fearing that foul play had been brought to bear upon him.The next morning he was up bright and early, looking sharply after his paper business, but he was not the Bob Hunter of the past. From the drollest and funniest boy in the trade he had suddenly become the most serious and thoughtful.“What’s hit you this mornin’, Bob?” said Tom Flannery, a companion newsboy.“Why do you ask that?” returned Bob.“Why, you look like you’d had a fit o’ sickness.”“You’re ’bout right, for I don’t feel much like myself, no how. I didn’t get no sleep hardly at all, and I’ve worried myself thin—just see here,” and he pulled the waistband of his trousers out till there was nearly enough unoccupied space in the body of them to put in another boy of his size.He couldn’t resist the opportunity for a joke, this comical lad, not even now. The trousers had been given to him by one of his customers, a man of good size. Bob had simply shortened up the legs, so naturally there was quite a quantity of superfluous cloth about his slim body.“Gewhittaker!” exclaimed Tom, “I should think you have fell off! But say, Bob, what’s gone bad? What’s done it?” continued Tom, disposed to be serious.“Well, you know the boy I told you about, what’s chummin’ with me?”“Yes, the one I saw you with last night, I s’pose?”“Yes, the same one. Well, he is lost.”“Lost!” repeated Tom, incredulously.bob hunter, alone in his room, wonderswhat has become of his new friend.“Yes;” and Bob acquainted him with the facts of Herbert’s disappearance. “Now, what do you think of it?” he asked.“Looks bad,” said young Flannery, gravely.“So it does to me.”“Foul play,” suggested Tom.“That’s what I think.”“Perhaps he has got tired of New York and has lit out.”“No, not much. Vermont ain’t no such boy.”“Well, you know him best. Did he have any grip or anything?”“Yes, he had a good suit and lots of other truck.”“And they’re in the room now?”“Yes.”“You’re in luck, Bob. I’d like a chum as would slope and leave me a good suit.”“Well, I wouldn’t. No more would you, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, slightly indignant.“I didn’t mean nothin’,” said Tom, apologizing for the offense which he saw he had given. “Of course, I wouldn’t want nobody to slope and leave his truck with me.”“That’s all right then, Tom,” said Bob, forgivingly. “But now, what do you s’pose has become of him?”“Well, it looks like he didn’t go of his own free will, when he left everything behind him.”“Of course it does, and I know he didn’t.”Bob related the story of Herbert’s experience at the bank, on the morning when he secured the position.“I don’t like that duffer—what d’ye call him?”“Felix Mortimer,” repeated Bob. “I’m sure that’s the name Herbert give me.”“Well, I’ll bet that he’s put up the job.”“I think so myself. You see he knew Randolph wasn’t no city chap.”“That’s so, and he knew he’d have the drop on him. But I don’t just see, after all, how he could get away with him.”“Well, he might have run him into some den or other.”“And drugged him?”“Well, perhaps so. There are piles of ways them fellers have of doin’ such jobs.”“I know they’re kinder slick about it sometimes. But, say, Bob,” continued Tom, earnestly, “what do you propose to do about it? He may be a prisoner.”“So he may, and probably is, if he is alive.”“Why, Bob, they wouldn’t kill him, would they?”“No, I don’t suppose so, not if they didn’t have to.”“Why would they have to do that?” asked Tom, with his eyes bulging out with excitement.“Well, sometimes folks has to do so—them hard tickets will do ’most anything. You see, if they start in to make way with a feller, and they are ’fraid he’ll blow on ’em, and they can’t make no other arrangement, why then they just fix him so he won’t never blow on nobody.”“Bob, it’s awful, ain’t it?” said Tom, with a shudder.“Yes, it is. There are a pile of tough gangs in this city that don’t care what they do to a feller.”“What do you s’pose they’ve done with your chum?” asked young Flannery, returning to the subject.“Well, that’s just what I want to know,” said Bob, seriously. “I am going to try to find out, too. There are tough dens in them cross streets running out of the Bowery.”“They won’t do worse nor keep him a prisoner, will they, Bob?”“Probably they won’t, not ’less they think he will blow on ’em. You see they’ve got to look out for themselves.”“That’s so, Bob, but why couldn’t they send him off somewhere so he couldn’t blow on ’em?”“They might do that, too.”“But they would get him so far away he couldn’t get back to New York never, I suppose?”“Yes, that’s the idea. They might run him off to sea, and put him on an island, or somethin’ like that. I can’t say just what they might do if they have their own way. But the idea is this, Tom Flannery,we must stop ’em,” said Bob, emphatically, “you and me. We’ve got to find out where he is, and rescue him.”“That’s the boss idea, Bob,” replied Tom, with emphasis. “But I don’t see just how we’re goin’ to do it, do you?”“Well, no, I can’t see the whole game, not now. But we must commence, and when we get a few points, we can slide ahead faster.”“I wouldn’t know how to commence.”“Well, I do; I thought that all out last night, and I’m only waiting till ten o’clock. Then I’ll steer for the bank where Herbert worked.”“Bob, you beat all the boys I know of,” said Tom, eying him with admiration. “None of ’em would ever think of doin’ the things you do, and they couldn’t do ’em if they did, that’s all. And now you’re goin’ to do the detective act!”tom flannery.Tom stopped short here with a jerk, as if he had got to the end of his rope, and took a long breath. To “do the detective act” seemed to him the greatest possible triumph for a boy like himself. He looked upon his companion, therefore, with wonder and admiration.Bob’s plans for penetrating the mystery had, indeed, been carefully formed. He fearlessly undertook an enterprise from which most boys would have shrunk. This keen, bright street lad, however, was not of the shrinking kind. He did not turn away from encountering dangers, even the dangers of some dreadful den in which he feared our hero was now a prisoner.During the forenoon he visited the banking house of Richard Goldwin and there found Felix Mortimer already installed in Herbert’s place. This discovery confirmed his worst fears and intensified his alarm for the safety of his friend.CHAPTER VIII.FELIX MORTIMER AT THE BANK.“Can I see the proprietor?” said a boy addressing a clerk at the counter of Richard Goldwin’s bank. It was the morning after Herbert’s mysterious disappearance.“What is your name?” asked the clerk.“Felix Mortimer,” answered the boy.“Mr. Goldwin is very busy,” replied the man at the counter.“Very well, I will wait,” said Felix; and he seated himself in a chair in the outer office.In a little while Mr. Goldwin came out of his private room, and, seeing young Mortimer there, recognized him.“Good morning, young man,” said he, kindly.“Good morning,” returned Felix, deferentially.“Have you come to tell us what has become of young Randolph?” asked the banker.“I don’t understand you,” said Felix, innocently. “I came because you asked me to do so.”“Yes, yes, I remember; but I referred to the disappearance of the boy I engaged at the time you applied for the position.”“Why, isn’t he here?” asked Mortimer, feigning surprise.“No, he hasn’t been here today.”“What do you imagine is the trouble?”“I do not know, unless, like so many other boys, he has got tired of the work, and has left it for some other position.”“That may be, and now you speak of it, I remember he said, the morning we were all waiting to see you, that if he failed to get this place he had another position in view that he could get, and that it would pay him five dollars a week.”Young Mortimer told this falsehood with the ease of a veteran. His manner could not have been more impressive had he been telling the truth.“Five dollars a week!” exclaimed Mr. Goldwin. “And he came here for three. I don’t see what his motive was.”“Perhaps he had a motive,” suggested Mortimer.“I don’t understand you,” replied the banker.Felix shrugged his shoulders.“What do you mean? Do you know anything about him?” pursued Mr. Goldwin, his suspicions aroused.“No, sir—er—not much.”“Speak up, young man. Tell me what you know about this young Vermonter.”“Vermonter?” repeated Felix, with a rising inflection; and he smiled suggestively.“Yes, Vermonter. Do you know anything to the contrary?”“You know I was an applicant for this position, Mr. Goldwin, so I do not like to answer your question. I hope you will excuse me.”“I appreciate your sense of honor, young man,” said Mr. Goldwin; “but it is to my interest to know the facts. If there is anything against him, I should be informed of it. Tell me what you know, and you will lose nothing by doing so.”With apparent reluctance, Felix yielded to the persuasion, and said:“I was on Broadway with a friend of mine, at the close of business hours, the day that you hired this young fellow. We were walking along by the Herald building when he came up Broadway and stopped to read the news on theTelegrambulletin board. I said to my friend, with surprise, ‘There is the fellow I told you about—the one that beat me this morning in getting the position at Goldwin’s.’ He looked at me incredulously and said: ‘Why, you told me he was a country boy—from Vermont.’“‘So he is,’ I replied. ‘Stuff,’ said he. ‘I know him well. That was a clever dodge to play the country act.’ I protested, but he convinced me that he was right. He is in a lawyer’s office, so he has to be in court more or less, and he said he saw him up before Judge Duffy only a few days ago, charged with stealing a pocket book. The suspicion was strong against him, but there wasn’t proof enough to fix the theft upon him. The Court came near sending him to the Island, though, for he had been arrested twice before, so my friend said.”“The young villain!” said the banker, when Felix had finished this black falsehood, which he told so glibly, and with such seeming reluctance, that Mr. Goldwin accepted it as all truth. “I am sorry I ever took him into my office,” he continued. “I must have the bank carefully looked over, to see if he misappropriated anything, as he very likely did.”Felix said nothing, but seemed to look sorry for Herbert.“Well,” said Mr. Goldwin, after a pause, “is it too late to get you?”“I don’t know,” answered Mortimer, hesitatingly. “Iwould like to work for you, but would not feel right to take the position away from this Vermonter.”Felix laid a special stress upon the word “Vermonter.”“Take it away from him!” replied the banker, scornfully. “He cannot enter this bank again.”“But you see I would feel that I am the means of keeping him out of the position. You wouldn’t have known about his deception if I hadn’t told you.”Felix now used the word “deception” flippantly, and with no further apparent apology for applying it to our hero.“That is all right,” replied Mr. Goldwin; “I am glad to see you sensitive about injuring another. It is much to your credit that you feel as you do about it.”“Thank you,” was the modest reply. “Then if you think it would look right, and you really want me, I will take the position.”“Of course we can get hundreds and thousands of boys, but I have taken a liking to you. When can you commence?”“I can commence this morning, if you wish me to,” said Felix.“Very well, I wish you would—er, that is if you feel able. I notice your face is swollen, and perhaps you are not feeling well.”“Oh, that will not bother me,” replied Mortimer, coolly. “I had a tooth filled yesterday, and have got cold in my jaw.”“You must suffer with it. It is swollen badly and looks red and angry,” said the banker sympathetically.“It does hurt a good deal, but will not trouble me about my work.”“It looks as if the skin had been injured—more like abruise, as if you had received a heavy blow on your jaw,” said Mr. Goldwin, examining the swelling more closely.Felix colored perceptibly, but immediately rallied, and said the poulticing had given it that appearance.Could Mr. Goldwin have known the truth about this injured jaw, he would have been paralyzed at the bold falsehood of the young villain before him.He had succeeded admirably in blackening our young hero’s reputation. Mr. Goldwin now looked upon Herbert with ill favor, and even disgust. And this change was all caused by the cunning and falsehoods of young Mortimer. He had poisoned Mr. Goldwin’s mind, and thus succeeded in establishing himself in the banker’s good opinion and securing the coveted position.“Another boy wants to see you, Mr. Goldwin,” said the clerk, shortly after the man of finance had engaged young Mortimer.“You may show him in,” said the banker.The door opened, and Bob Hunter stepped into Mr. Goldwin’s presence. If he had only had a bundle of newspapers under his arm, he would have felt quite at home; but, as he had nothing of the kind, he was a trifle embarrassed.“What do you want here?” asked Mr. Goldwin, more sharply than was his wont.“I come down, sir, to see if you can tell me anything about Herbert Randolph.”“What do you want to know about him?”“I want to know where he is. He hain’t shown up not sence last night.”“Was he a friend of yours?”“Yes, sir, me and him roomed together.”“You and he roomed together?” repeated the banker, as if he doubted Bob’s word.“That’s what I said, sir,” answered the newsboy, showing his dislike of the insinuation against his truthfulness.“I am afraid you are inclined to be stuffy, young man,” replied Mr. Goldwin. “I am unable, however, to give you the information you seek.”“You don’t know where he is, then?”“No, I have not seen him since he left here last night.”“Do you know why he is stayin’ away?”“Certainly I do not.”“Done nothin’ wrong. I s’pose?” queried Bob.“I have not fixed any wrong upon him yet.”“Then, if he hain’t done no wrong, somethin’s keepin’ him.”“He may have a motive in staying away,” said the banker, becoming interested in Bob’s keen manner.“What do you s’pose his motive is?”“That I cannot tell.”“Foul play, that’s what I think.”“Nonsense, boy.”“I don’t think there’s no nonsense about it. I know he wouldn’t light out jest for fun, not much. Herbert Randolph wasn’t no such a feller. He didn’t have no money, n’ he had to work. Me an’ him had a room together, as I said, an’ his things are in the room now.”“When did you see him last?” said Mr. Goldwin.Bob explained all about Herbert’s disappearance, but was careful to say nothing about his suspicions pointing to Felix Mortimer. He saw the latter in the outer office as he entered, and he thought policy bade him keep his suspicions to himself for the present.“You tell a straightforward story, my boy,” said Mr. Goldwin, “but I cannot think there has been any foul play. In fact, I have heard something against this young Randolph that makes me distrust him. Were it not for this, I should feel more interest in your story, and would do all in my power to try and find him.”bob hunter speaks up for herbert.“I don’t believe there’s nothing against him. He’s an honest boy, if I know one when I see him. He liked you and his work, and them that speaks against him is dishonest themselves. That’s what I think about it.”“But that is only your opinion. Certainly he does not appear in a favorable light at the present time.”Presently Bob departed from the bank. He had learned all he expected, and even more. He knew now that Felix Mortimer was in Herbert’s place, that Mr. Goldwin had been influenced against his friend by what he believed to be falsehoods, and that Herbert’s whereabouts was as much a mystery at the bank as to himself.These facts pointed suspiciously to Felix Mortimer. Who else could want to get Herbert out of the way? Bob argued. Having thus settled the matter in his own mind, he was ready to commence testing his theories.“Tom Flannery,” said Bob, when he had returned from Wall Street, “I’ve struck the trail.”“No, you hain’t, Bob, not so quick as this?” said Tom, with surprise.Bob explained what he had learned at the bank.“Now,” said he, “I want you, Tom, to look out for my business tonight. Get some kid to help you, and mind you see he does his work right.”“What you goin’ to do, Bob?”“I’m going to lay round Wall Street till that Mortimer feller comes outer the bank.”“What do you mean? You hain’t goin’ to knock him out, are you, Bob?”“Shucks, Tom, you wouldn’t make no kind of a detective. Of course I wouldn’t do that. Why, that would spoil the whole game.”“Well, then, what are you goin’ to do?”“Why, I’ll do just as any detective would—follow him, of course.”“Is that the way they do it, Bob?”“Some of ’em do, when they have a case like this one.”“This is a gosh fired hard one, ain’t it, Bob?”“Well, ’tain’t no boy’s play—not a case like this one.”“So you’re goin’ to foller him? I wish I could go with you, Bob.”“But, you see, you must sell papers. I’ll want you to help me later, when I get the case well worked up.”“It’ll be too big for one detective then, I s’pose?”“That’s the idea, Tom. Then I’ll call you in,” said Bob, with the swell of a professional.“I wish ’twas all worked up, Bob, so you’d want to call me in now, as you call it. It’ll be exciting, won’t it?”“Well, I should think it would, before we get through with it.”“Say, Bob, will there be any fightin’?” asked Tom, eagerly. He was already excited over the prospects.“Can’t say that now—hain’t got the case worked up enough to tell. ’Tain’t professional to say too much about a case. None of the detectives does it, and why should I? That’s what I want to know, Tom Flannery.”“Well, you shouldn’t, Bob, if the rest doesn’t do it.”“Of course not. It’s no use to be a detective, unless the job is done right and professional. I believe in throwin’ some style into anything like this. ’Tain’t often, you know, Tom, when a feller gets a real genuine case like this one. Why, plenty er boys might make believe they had cases, but they’d be baby cases—only baby cases, Tom Flannery, when you’d compare ’em with this one—a real professional case.”“I don’t blame you for bein’ proud, Bob,” said Tom, admiringly. “I only wish I had such a case.”“Why, you’ve got it now; you’re on it with me, hain’t you? Don’t you be silly now, Tom. You’ll get all you want before you get through with this case; an’, when it’s all published in the papers, your name will be printed with mine.”“Gewhittaker!” exclaimed Tom; “I didn’t think of that before. Will our names really be printed, Bob?”“Why, of course they will. Detectives’ names are always printed, hain’t they? You make me tired, Tom Flannery. Ishould think you’d know better. Don’t make yourself so redickerlous by askin’ any more questions like that. But just you tend to business, and you’ll get all the glory you want—professional glory, too.”“It’ll beat jumpin’ off the Brooklyn Bridge, won’t it?” said Tom.“Well, if you ain’t an idiot, Tom Flannery, I never saw one. To think of comparin’ a detective with some fool that wants cheap notoriety like that! You just wait till you see your name in big letters in the papers along with mine. It’ll be Bob Hunter and Tom Flannery.”Tom’s eyes bulged out with pride at the prospect. He had never before realized so fully his own importance.CHAPTER IX.BOB ASSUMES A DISGUISE.At the close of business hours, Felix Mortimer sauntered up Broadway with something of an air of triumph about him. His jaw was still swollen, and doubtless pained him not a little.Another boy passed up Broadway at the same time, and only a little way behind Mortimer.It was Bob Hunter, and he managed to keep the same distance between himself and young Mortimer, whom, in fact, he was “shadowing.” Of course, Mortimer knew nothing of this. In fact, he did not know such a boy as Bob Hunter existed.At the post office Felix Mortimer turned into Park Row. He stopped and read the bulletins at theMail and Expressoffice. Then he bought an evening paper, and, standing on the steps of theWorldoffice, looked it over hastily.Now he moved on up Publishers’ Row, passing theTimes, theTribune, and theSunbuildings, and walked along Chatham Street. Presently he emerged into the Bowery. Now he walked more rapidly than he had been doing, so that Bob had to quicken his pace to keep him in sight.At the corner of Pell Street and the Bowery he met a young man who seemed to be waiting for him.“I’ve been hanging round here for ’most half an hour,” said he, as if displeased.“I’m here on time,” replied Felix; “just half past five. Come, let’s have a glass of beer.”Peter Smartweed was the name of this young fellow, as Bob afterwards found out.When Felix and his friend passed into the drinking saloon, Bob followed them as far as the door; then he turned back, and sought the disguise of a bootblack.A young knight of the brush stood near by, with his blacking box slung over his shoulder. Bob arranged with him for the use of it for a few moments, promising to pay over to him all the proceeds he made thereby. He also exchanged his own hat for the cap the boy had on, and, with this head gear pulled down over the left side of his face, the appearance of Bob Hunter was much changed. His accustomed step, quick, firm, and expressive, was changed to that of the nerveless, aimless boy—a sort of shuffle.Thus disguised, he approached Felix Mortimer and his companion, who were sitting at a table with a partially filled schooner of beer before each of them.“Shine? shine, boss?” said Bob, in a strange voice.No response was made by the convivial youths.“Two for five!” continued Bob, persistently. “Two reg’lar patent leathers for only five cents!”Peter looked at his boots. They were muddy. Then he argued with himself that Felix had paid for the beer, so it seemed to him that he could not even up the score in any less expensive way than by paying for the shines.“Do you mean you will give us both a shine for five cents?” said Peter.“Yes,” drawled Bob, lazily.“Well, see that they are good ones, now, or I’ll not pay you a cent.”Bob commenced work on the shoes very leisurely. He seemed the embodiment of stupidity, and blundered along in every way possible to prolong the time.“How would you like to climb down, Mort, and shine shoes for a living?” said Peter Smartweed, jokingly.“Perhaps I wouldn’t mind it if I was stupid as the kid fumbling around your shoes seems to be,” replied Felix, in a more serious mood than his companion.bob hunter plays the detective.“Well, I think you looked even more stupid than this young Arab last night, when you lay upon the floor.”“Well, I guess you would have felt stupid, too, if you had got such a clip as I did,” retorted Felix, as he nursed his swollen jaw with his hand.“It was a stunning blow, for a fact. John L. Sullivan couldn’t have done it neater. I didn’t think, Mort, that that young countryman could hit such a clip, did you?”“No, I didn’t; and I’m mighty sure you don’t realize now what a stinging blow he hit me. You talk about it as if it didn’t amount to much. Well, all I’ve got to say is, I don’t want to see you mauled so, but I wish you knew how good it felt to be floored the way I was.”“No, thank you,” said Peter; “I don’t want any of it. But you looked so comical, as you fell sprawling, that I couldn’t help laughing. I believe I would have laughed if you had been killed.”Bob Hunter’s ears were now wide open.“I couldn’t see anything to laugh about,” said Felix, bitterly.“That isn’t very strange, either. You naturally wouldn’t, under the circumstances,” laughed young Smartweed.“Come, now, let up,” said Felix. “Your turn may come.”“I expect it will, if this young farmer ever gets after me.”“But you don’t expect him to get out, do you?”“I hadn’t thought much about it. My part of the programme was to get him into old Gunwagner’s den, and I did it without any accident.”Felix looked hard at his companion. He knew the last part of this sentence was a sarcastic thrust at him.Bob grew excited, and found it difficult to restrain himself. He felt certain now that these two young villains were talking about his friend Herbert Randolph.“No accident would have happened to me, either, if he hadn’t hit me unawares,” protested young Mortimer, with a bit of sourness about his manner. “I allow I could get away with him in a fair fight.”“Oh, no, you couldn’t, Mort; he is too much for you. I could see that in a minute, by the way he handled himself.”Young Mortimer’s face flushed. He didn’t like the comparison.“Well, he won’t bother me again very soon,” said he, vindictively.“Didn’t they tumble to anything crooked at the bank?” asked Peter, after a few moments’ serious thought.“No.”“I don’t see why. The circumstances look suspicious.”“Well, they didn’t suspect the truth.”“You’re in luck, then, that is all I have to say.”“I shall be, you mean, when we get him out of the way.”“He seems to be pretty well out of your way now.”“But that won’t last forever. He must be got out of New York, that’s all. Old Gunwagner will not keep him round very long, you may be sure of that.”“You don’t know how to shine a shoe,” growled Smartweed to our young detective. “See the blacking you have put on the upper! Wipe it off, I say; at once, too.”Bob’s blood boiled with indignation, and he was about to reply sharply, when he remembered that he was now acting the detective, and so he said:“All right, boss; I’ll fix it fer yer;” and he removed the superfluous blacking with great care. There was no longer any doubt in his mind about Herbert being a prisoner. He was satisfied that his friend was in the clutches of old Gunwagner, and he knew from the conversation that he was in danger of being lost forever to New York and to his friends.The situation was an alarming one. Bob pictured vividly the worst possibilities of our hero’s fate.Presently, after young Smartweed had lighted a cigarette and taken a few puffs, he said, absentmindedly:“So you are going to send him away from New York?”“Of course, you don’t s’pose we would be very safe with him here, do you?” replied Mortimer.“Safe enough, so long as he is in old Gunwagner’s cell. But what is to be done with him? Send him back to Vermont?”“Not much; he won’t go there unless he escapes.”“It’s rough on the fellow, Mort, to run him off to sea, or to make him a prisoner in the bottom of a coal barge or canal boat. But that is what he is likely to get from that old shark,” said Peter Smartweed, meaning Gunwagner.“Don’t you get soft hearted now,” replied Felix, in a hard voice.“I’m not soft hearted, Mort, and you know it, but I don’t like this business, any way.”“What did you go into it for, then?”“What do we do anything for? I thought, from what you said, that he was a coarse young countryman. But he don’t seem like it. In fact I believe he is too nice a fellow to be ruined for life.”“Perhaps you’d better get him out then,” said Mortimer, sarcastically.“You talk like a fool,” replied Smartweed, testily.“So do you,” retorted his companion, firing up; and he nursed his aching jaw as if to lend emphasis to his remarks. These explosions suddenly ended the discussion, and as soon as their shoes were polished, the two young villains left the saloon. Mortimer turned up the Bowery, and Smartweed passed into a side street leading towards Broadway.Bob readily dropped his assumed character of bootblack, and quickly started in pursuit of Felix Mortimer.The latter went directly home, where he remained for nearly an hour. At the end of this time, he emerged from the house, much to the young detective’s relief. He had waited outside all this time, patiently watching for Felix’s reappearance.Though cold and hungry, Bob could not afford to give up the chase long enough even to get a bit of lunch. He had made wonderful progress so far in his detective work, and he felt, as he had a right to feel, highly elated over his discoveries.Now he was shadowing young Mortimer again. Down the Bowery they went till they came to a side street in a disreputable locality. Here they turned towards the East River, and presently Felix Mortimer left the sidewalk and disappeared within the door of an old building.“So this is Gunwagner’s, is it?” said Bob to himself. “At least I s’pose ’tis, from what them fellers said—Gunwagner—yes, that’s the name. Well, this may not be it, but I’m pretty sure it is,” he continued, reasoning over the problem.After fixing the house and its locality securely in his mind, and after having waited till he satisfied himself that Mortimer intended remaining there for a time, he made a lively trip to City Hall Park, where he joined young Flannery.“Well, Bob, have you struck anything?” said Tom, instantly, and with much more than a passing interest.“Yes; I’ve struck it rich—reg’lar detective style, I tell you, Tom,” said Bob, with pride and enthusiasm. And then he briefly related all his discoveries.“Nobody could er worked the business like you, Bob,” said Tom, admiringly.“Well, I did throw a little style into it, I think myself,” repliedBob. “But,” he continued, “there’s no time now for talking the matter over. We’ve got some work to do. I’ve got the place located, and I want you to go with me now, and see what we can do.”Within five minutes the two boys were on their way to Christopher Gunwagner’s, and as they passed hurriedly along the streets they formed a hasty plan for immediate action—a plan cunningly devised for outwitting this miserable old fence and his villainous companions.CHAPTER X.SOMETHING ABOUT HERBERT RANDOLPH.Had our young hero been more wary, he would not have so easily fallen a victim to the deceit of the genial stranger whom he met on the Bowery. He should have been more cautious, and less ready to assume friendly relations with a stranger. His lack of prudence in this respect was almost inexcusable, inasmuch as he had been warned by Bob Hunter to look out for himself. Moreover, his suspicions should have been excited by the two young fellows he saw on Wall Street, who appeared to be shadowing him.But none of these prudential thoughts seemed to occur to young Randolph. In Vermont, he spoke to every one with a frank, open confidence. He had always done so from his earliest recollections. Others in his locality did the same. Unrestrained social intercourse was the universal custom of the people. Habit is a great power in one’s life. It guided our hero on this fatal night, and he talked freely and confidentially with his new acquaintance.“Have you ever been in one of these Bowery museums?” asked the genial young man, after they had chatted for a little time.“No, I have not,” replied Herbert, in a hesitating manner that implied his desire to enter.This young man was the same one whose boots Bob Hunter blackened when he was acting the detective, otherwise Peter Smartweed.The latter smiled at the readiness with which young Randolph caught at the bait.“Well, you have missed a treat,” said he, with assumed surprise.“I suppose so,” replied Herbert, feeling that his education had been neglected.“They have some wonderful curiosities in some of these museums,” continued the young confidence scamp.“So I should think, from the looks of these pictures.”“But this is the poorest museum on the Bowery. There are some great curiosities in some of them, and a regular show.”“Have you been in all of them?” asked Herbert.“Oh, yes, dozens of times. Why, I can go into one of the museums whenever I like, without paying a cent, and it is the best one in New York.”“Can you?” said Herbert, with surprise. “I wish I could go in free.”“I can fix that for you all right,” said Peter, magnanimously. “I often take a friend in with me.”“And it doesn’t cost you anything?”“No, not a cent. If you like, we will stroll down the Bowery, and drop in for a little while. By the way, I remember now that a new curiosity, a three headed woman, is on exhibition there.”“A three headed woman!” exclaimed Herbert; “she must be a wonderful sight!”“So she is. Come on, let’s go and see her. It is not down very far. You have nothing to do, I suppose?”“No, only to pass the time away for an hour or so.”“Very well, then, you can’t pass it in any more agreeable way than this, I am sure.”“You are very kind,” replied Herbert, as they moved off in the direction of the supposed museum. He had no thought of danger, as he walked along with his new friend, happy in anticipation of the pleasure before him. Could he, however, have realized that he was the victim of a shrewd confidence game, that every step he now took was bringing him nearer to the trap that had been set for him by cruel, unscrupulous villains, how his whole being would have revolted against the presence of the unprincipled fellow beside him, who was now coolly leading him on to his ruin.Presently they turned up a side street, and soon stopped before a low, ugly building.
gunwagner and felix agree upon a plan.
Gunwagner’s face grew more and more avaricious. The plan looked well to him, and he felt it would be a great thing to have Mortimer in a rich banking house. The possibilities of bold pilferings from the heaps of gold were most tempting to him, and he was now quite ready to commit himself to anyfeasible scheme to carry out Mortimer’s evil design. The old fence was an unscrupulous man, and he was ready to go to almost any length in crime to avail himself of an opportunity so tempting to his greed of gain.
The two confederates discussed the matter for some time, and at length they agreed upon a plan of action, which boded ill for our hero.
A RAY OF SUNSHINE.
Young Randolph entered upon his duties at once, but of course did little more during the day than familiarize himself with the work that had been assigned to him. Toward evening a ray of sunshine burst joyously into the bank, and threw a bright cheerful glow over the office.
Ray Goldwin, the light hearted, merry daughter of the senior partner, with her sunny face and winning manners, was like a clear June morning.
Little acts go far, many times, to make one happy or quite miserable. It so happened that our hero had been doing some writing for Mr. Goldwin’s own personal use. It lay upon his desk and was admirably done. It was, in fact, like copper plate. The whole arrangement of the work was artistic and in the best of taste.
“Oh, papa, who did this beautiful writing for you?” said Ray, enthusiastically.
“Our new clerk, Mr. Randolph,” responded her father, nodding his head in the direction of Herbert. The latter felt his cheeks grow rosy at this compliment.
“Mr. Randolph,” continued the banker, “will you kindly help me take these parcels out to my carriage?”
“Certainly, sir, with pleasure,” replied Herbert, politely.
young randolph handed ray into thecarriage with just enough embarrassmentin his manner to interest her.
Ray Goldwin looked at him with surprise; and his handsome face and fine form attracted even more than a passing glance from her.
“I want to run up to the corner of Broadway,” said Mr. Goldwin, when they had reached the door. “John, you may call for me,” he continued, addressing the coachman; “I will be ready by the time you get there.”
Young Randolph handed Ray into the carriage, with just enough embarrassment in his manner to interest her. Then he placed the parcels on the seat beside her, receiving meanwhile a smile and a look that fully rewarded him. Raising his hat, he turned away, and as the coachman drove off he made a hasty retreat for the bank, from which the sunshine now seemed to have departed.
When he started for home at the close of business hours, two figures stood on the opposite side of the street, a little nearer Broadway.
As Herbert opened the outer door, preparatory to passing out, he took a position that brought his eyes directly upon them. One of them, uneasily, but perhaps quite naturally, placed a hand on the shoulder of his companion, while with the other he pointed directly at Herbert. Then, as if realizing that possibly he had been detected in this act, he nervously pointed to something on the top of the building, and all the while talked rapidly. This was sufficient to arrest our hero’s attention. He watched the two sharply for a few minutes while standing upon the steps of the banking house.
Under his direct gaze they appeared somewhat nervous, and finally moved off in the direction of Broadway. Herbert followed them, or rather followed out his purpose to go up to City Hall Park, and find, if possible, Bob Hunter. Before reachingBroadway, however, the two young fellows who had pointed at him stopped and peered into a show window, thus bringing their backs full upon Herbert as he passed them.
He knew so little of city life that he was slow to form an opinion, thinking that what seemed odd and suspicious to him would perhaps be all right in New York. He therefore dismissed the matter from his mind, and watched with amazement the crowds of men who at that hour of the day were pouring up Broadway, on their way home from business.
“What a great city this is!” he thought; “and it is American, too. I wonder if any of the cities of the Old World can turn out such a lot of business men as these!”
The boy was right in asking himself this question. The wonder he felt was natural, for a finer body of men can rarely be found than the business men of New York. And now he joined the stream that flowed northward. The massive buildings, tall and stately, on either side of Broadway, captured his admiration, and he gazed upon them with open mouthed amazement.
Stone buildings with gigantic pillars and massive walls; buildings ten or a dozen stories high, and mighty spires raising their tops afar up in mid air—all these added to the country lad’s wonder and astonishment. He passed by the Western Union building, the Evening Post building, and now paused in front of the Herald office to read the “headings” on the bulletin board.
After being thus engaged for a few moments, he turned suddenly around, and, to his surprise, saw the two young fellows who had attracted his attention on Wall Street. One of them had a look about him that seemed familiar, and yet he could not tell where he had seen him. His figure, his eyes,and the shape of his face were not unlike Felix Mortimer; and yet he looked older than the latter by two or three years, for he wore a small mustache and tiny side whiskers. Seeing these same fellows the second time, and noticing that they were apparently watching him, made Herbert feel a trifle uneasy. But he was not easily worried or frightened.
Bob Hunter was in, as on the previous night, and very glad he seemed at his friend’s good success in getting so desirable a position. He listened to Herbert’s story of the contest with much interest, and then added thoughtfully:
“It might be a good idea to look out for that feller that seemed to get down on you so. He probably knows you are a stranger in the city, and——”
“Do you think there is any danger?” interrupted Herbert.
“No, I can’t say as there is; but he might think, if he could get you out of the way, he would get the place with the banker. You said he was disappointed.”
“Yes, he showed his disappointment very much.”
“Well, nothing may come of it. You keep your eye on me, and I’ll steer you through all right, I reckon.”
Herbert was upon the point of telling Bob his suspicions about the two fellows that seemed to be shadowing him, and then it occurred to him that he might magnify the matter, and work himself into a state of uneasiness when it would be better to give it no thought whatever. Therefore he said nothing to the newsboy about them.
When they had finished dinner a little later, Bob asked him if he could manage to pass away an hour or so alone.
“Certainly, if you have an engagement,” replied Herbert.
“I go to an evening school; but if you’ll be lonesomealone, why, I’ll stay with you till you learn a thing or two about the city.”
“Oh, I shall be all right,” said our hero, confidently. “Don’t think of remaining away from school on my account. I can enjoy looking at the sights here in the Bowery for a while; then I will go to the room, and read till you come.”
“All right. I’ll do as you say; but now you look out, Vermont, and don’t get lost.”
Bob seemed to have a fondness for calling his friend by this name, and the latter indulged him in the peculiarity without objection.
After a while, young Randolph drifted up to one of the Bowery dime museums, and stood there for some time reading the announcements, looking at the pictures, and watching the crowd that ebbed and flowed up and down that thoroughfare.
Presently a young fellow of about his own age, who had for some time been standing near him, made a casual remark about a comical looking person who had just passed by. Our hero looked up, and seeing that the remark had been addressed to him, he replied promptly. A conversation between him and the stranger followed. Herein Herbert showed the trustfulness characteristic of a country boy. He knew he was honest himself, and did not once suspect that the agreeable young man was playing the confidence game upon him.
BOB HUNTER THOROUGHLY AROUSED.
When Bob Hunter returned from the evening school to his room, he expected to find young Randolph there.
“He promised to be here,” said Bob to himself; “I hope nothing has happened to him.”
The newsboy’s manner showed some alarm. He felt anxious about his friend.
“Something has gone wrong, I believe, or he would surely come,” continued Bob, after waiting for a full half hour; “but I can’t imagine what has steered him on to the wrong track.”
Another half hour went by, and Herbert did not put in an appearance.
“I might’s well stay here, I s’pose, as to go ’n’ prowl round this town huntin’ for Vermont,” said Bob, thoughtfully. “But I guess I’ll see if I can strike his trail. Any way I’ll feel better, ’cause I’ll know I’ve done something. It’s no use to let a feller like him be run into these dens, if the game can be stopped.”
An hour’s fruitless hunt, in and about the Bowery, failed to reveal Herbert’s whereabouts to the anxious searcher. He was unable to find any one who remembered to have seen him.
After giving up all hope of learning what he wished to find out, Bob hurried back to his room, with a feeling of anxiety quite new to him. He had taken a great liking to our hero, and now felt thoroughly alarmed, fearing that foul play had been brought to bear upon him.
The next morning he was up bright and early, looking sharply after his paper business, but he was not the Bob Hunter of the past. From the drollest and funniest boy in the trade he had suddenly become the most serious and thoughtful.
“What’s hit you this mornin’, Bob?” said Tom Flannery, a companion newsboy.
“Why do you ask that?” returned Bob.
“Why, you look like you’d had a fit o’ sickness.”
“You’re ’bout right, for I don’t feel much like myself, no how. I didn’t get no sleep hardly at all, and I’ve worried myself thin—just see here,” and he pulled the waistband of his trousers out till there was nearly enough unoccupied space in the body of them to put in another boy of his size.
He couldn’t resist the opportunity for a joke, this comical lad, not even now. The trousers had been given to him by one of his customers, a man of good size. Bob had simply shortened up the legs, so naturally there was quite a quantity of superfluous cloth about his slim body.
“Gewhittaker!” exclaimed Tom, “I should think you have fell off! But say, Bob, what’s gone bad? What’s done it?” continued Tom, disposed to be serious.
“Well, you know the boy I told you about, what’s chummin’ with me?”
“Yes, the one I saw you with last night, I s’pose?”
“Yes, the same one. Well, he is lost.”
“Lost!” repeated Tom, incredulously.
bob hunter, alone in his room, wonderswhat has become of his new friend.
“Yes;” and Bob acquainted him with the facts of Herbert’s disappearance. “Now, what do you think of it?” he asked.
“Looks bad,” said young Flannery, gravely.
“So it does to me.”
“Foul play,” suggested Tom.
“That’s what I think.”
“Perhaps he has got tired of New York and has lit out.”
“No, not much. Vermont ain’t no such boy.”
“Well, you know him best. Did he have any grip or anything?”
“Yes, he had a good suit and lots of other truck.”
“And they’re in the room now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in luck, Bob. I’d like a chum as would slope and leave me a good suit.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. No more would you, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, slightly indignant.
“I didn’t mean nothin’,” said Tom, apologizing for the offense which he saw he had given. “Of course, I wouldn’t want nobody to slope and leave his truck with me.”
“That’s all right then, Tom,” said Bob, forgivingly. “But now, what do you s’pose has become of him?”
“Well, it looks like he didn’t go of his own free will, when he left everything behind him.”
“Of course it does, and I know he didn’t.”
Bob related the story of Herbert’s experience at the bank, on the morning when he secured the position.
“I don’t like that duffer—what d’ye call him?”
“Felix Mortimer,” repeated Bob. “I’m sure that’s the name Herbert give me.”
“Well, I’ll bet that he’s put up the job.”
“I think so myself. You see he knew Randolph wasn’t no city chap.”
“That’s so, and he knew he’d have the drop on him. But I don’t just see, after all, how he could get away with him.”
“Well, he might have run him into some den or other.”
“And drugged him?”
“Well, perhaps so. There are piles of ways them fellers have of doin’ such jobs.”
“I know they’re kinder slick about it sometimes. But, say, Bob,” continued Tom, earnestly, “what do you propose to do about it? He may be a prisoner.”
“So he may, and probably is, if he is alive.”
“Why, Bob, they wouldn’t kill him, would they?”
“No, I don’t suppose so, not if they didn’t have to.”
“Why would they have to do that?” asked Tom, with his eyes bulging out with excitement.
“Well, sometimes folks has to do so—them hard tickets will do ’most anything. You see, if they start in to make way with a feller, and they are ’fraid he’ll blow on ’em, and they can’t make no other arrangement, why then they just fix him so he won’t never blow on nobody.”
“Bob, it’s awful, ain’t it?” said Tom, with a shudder.
“Yes, it is. There are a pile of tough gangs in this city that don’t care what they do to a feller.”
“What do you s’pose they’ve done with your chum?” asked young Flannery, returning to the subject.
“Well, that’s just what I want to know,” said Bob, seriously. “I am going to try to find out, too. There are tough dens in them cross streets running out of the Bowery.”
“They won’t do worse nor keep him a prisoner, will they, Bob?”
“Probably they won’t, not ’less they think he will blow on ’em. You see they’ve got to look out for themselves.”
“That’s so, Bob, but why couldn’t they send him off somewhere so he couldn’t blow on ’em?”
“They might do that, too.”
“But they would get him so far away he couldn’t get back to New York never, I suppose?”
“Yes, that’s the idea. They might run him off to sea, and put him on an island, or somethin’ like that. I can’t say just what they might do if they have their own way. But the idea is this, Tom Flannery,we must stop ’em,” said Bob, emphatically, “you and me. We’ve got to find out where he is, and rescue him.”
“That’s the boss idea, Bob,” replied Tom, with emphasis. “But I don’t see just how we’re goin’ to do it, do you?”
“Well, no, I can’t see the whole game, not now. But we must commence, and when we get a few points, we can slide ahead faster.”
“I wouldn’t know how to commence.”
“Well, I do; I thought that all out last night, and I’m only waiting till ten o’clock. Then I’ll steer for the bank where Herbert worked.”
“Bob, you beat all the boys I know of,” said Tom, eying him with admiration. “None of ’em would ever think of doin’ the things you do, and they couldn’t do ’em if they did, that’s all. And now you’re goin’ to do the detective act!”
tom flannery.
Tom stopped short here with a jerk, as if he had got to the end of his rope, and took a long breath. To “do the detective act” seemed to him the greatest possible triumph for a boy like himself. He looked upon his companion, therefore, with wonder and admiration.
Bob’s plans for penetrating the mystery had, indeed, been carefully formed. He fearlessly undertook an enterprise from which most boys would have shrunk. This keen, bright street lad, however, was not of the shrinking kind. He did not turn away from encountering dangers, even the dangers of some dreadful den in which he feared our hero was now a prisoner.
During the forenoon he visited the banking house of Richard Goldwin and there found Felix Mortimer already installed in Herbert’s place. This discovery confirmed his worst fears and intensified his alarm for the safety of his friend.
FELIX MORTIMER AT THE BANK.
“Can I see the proprietor?” said a boy addressing a clerk at the counter of Richard Goldwin’s bank. It was the morning after Herbert’s mysterious disappearance.
“What is your name?” asked the clerk.
“Felix Mortimer,” answered the boy.
“Mr. Goldwin is very busy,” replied the man at the counter.
“Very well, I will wait,” said Felix; and he seated himself in a chair in the outer office.
In a little while Mr. Goldwin came out of his private room, and, seeing young Mortimer there, recognized him.
“Good morning, young man,” said he, kindly.
“Good morning,” returned Felix, deferentially.
“Have you come to tell us what has become of young Randolph?” asked the banker.
“I don’t understand you,” said Felix, innocently. “I came because you asked me to do so.”
“Yes, yes, I remember; but I referred to the disappearance of the boy I engaged at the time you applied for the position.”
“Why, isn’t he here?” asked Mortimer, feigning surprise.
“No, he hasn’t been here today.”
“What do you imagine is the trouble?”
“I do not know, unless, like so many other boys, he has got tired of the work, and has left it for some other position.”
“That may be, and now you speak of it, I remember he said, the morning we were all waiting to see you, that if he failed to get this place he had another position in view that he could get, and that it would pay him five dollars a week.”
Young Mortimer told this falsehood with the ease of a veteran. His manner could not have been more impressive had he been telling the truth.
“Five dollars a week!” exclaimed Mr. Goldwin. “And he came here for three. I don’t see what his motive was.”
“Perhaps he had a motive,” suggested Mortimer.
“I don’t understand you,” replied the banker.
Felix shrugged his shoulders.
“What do you mean? Do you know anything about him?” pursued Mr. Goldwin, his suspicions aroused.
“No, sir—er—not much.”
“Speak up, young man. Tell me what you know about this young Vermonter.”
“Vermonter?” repeated Felix, with a rising inflection; and he smiled suggestively.
“Yes, Vermonter. Do you know anything to the contrary?”
“You know I was an applicant for this position, Mr. Goldwin, so I do not like to answer your question. I hope you will excuse me.”
“I appreciate your sense of honor, young man,” said Mr. Goldwin; “but it is to my interest to know the facts. If there is anything against him, I should be informed of it. Tell me what you know, and you will lose nothing by doing so.”
With apparent reluctance, Felix yielded to the persuasion, and said:
“I was on Broadway with a friend of mine, at the close of business hours, the day that you hired this young fellow. We were walking along by the Herald building when he came up Broadway and stopped to read the news on theTelegrambulletin board. I said to my friend, with surprise, ‘There is the fellow I told you about—the one that beat me this morning in getting the position at Goldwin’s.’ He looked at me incredulously and said: ‘Why, you told me he was a country boy—from Vermont.’
“‘So he is,’ I replied. ‘Stuff,’ said he. ‘I know him well. That was a clever dodge to play the country act.’ I protested, but he convinced me that he was right. He is in a lawyer’s office, so he has to be in court more or less, and he said he saw him up before Judge Duffy only a few days ago, charged with stealing a pocket book. The suspicion was strong against him, but there wasn’t proof enough to fix the theft upon him. The Court came near sending him to the Island, though, for he had been arrested twice before, so my friend said.”
“The young villain!” said the banker, when Felix had finished this black falsehood, which he told so glibly, and with such seeming reluctance, that Mr. Goldwin accepted it as all truth. “I am sorry I ever took him into my office,” he continued. “I must have the bank carefully looked over, to see if he misappropriated anything, as he very likely did.”
Felix said nothing, but seemed to look sorry for Herbert.
“Well,” said Mr. Goldwin, after a pause, “is it too late to get you?”
“I don’t know,” answered Mortimer, hesitatingly. “Iwould like to work for you, but would not feel right to take the position away from this Vermonter.”
Felix laid a special stress upon the word “Vermonter.”
“Take it away from him!” replied the banker, scornfully. “He cannot enter this bank again.”
“But you see I would feel that I am the means of keeping him out of the position. You wouldn’t have known about his deception if I hadn’t told you.”
Felix now used the word “deception” flippantly, and with no further apparent apology for applying it to our hero.
“That is all right,” replied Mr. Goldwin; “I am glad to see you sensitive about injuring another. It is much to your credit that you feel as you do about it.”
“Thank you,” was the modest reply. “Then if you think it would look right, and you really want me, I will take the position.”
“Of course we can get hundreds and thousands of boys, but I have taken a liking to you. When can you commence?”
“I can commence this morning, if you wish me to,” said Felix.
“Very well, I wish you would—er, that is if you feel able. I notice your face is swollen, and perhaps you are not feeling well.”
“Oh, that will not bother me,” replied Mortimer, coolly. “I had a tooth filled yesterday, and have got cold in my jaw.”
“You must suffer with it. It is swollen badly and looks red and angry,” said the banker sympathetically.
“It does hurt a good deal, but will not trouble me about my work.”
“It looks as if the skin had been injured—more like abruise, as if you had received a heavy blow on your jaw,” said Mr. Goldwin, examining the swelling more closely.
Felix colored perceptibly, but immediately rallied, and said the poulticing had given it that appearance.
Could Mr. Goldwin have known the truth about this injured jaw, he would have been paralyzed at the bold falsehood of the young villain before him.
He had succeeded admirably in blackening our young hero’s reputation. Mr. Goldwin now looked upon Herbert with ill favor, and even disgust. And this change was all caused by the cunning and falsehoods of young Mortimer. He had poisoned Mr. Goldwin’s mind, and thus succeeded in establishing himself in the banker’s good opinion and securing the coveted position.
“Another boy wants to see you, Mr. Goldwin,” said the clerk, shortly after the man of finance had engaged young Mortimer.
“You may show him in,” said the banker.
The door opened, and Bob Hunter stepped into Mr. Goldwin’s presence. If he had only had a bundle of newspapers under his arm, he would have felt quite at home; but, as he had nothing of the kind, he was a trifle embarrassed.
“What do you want here?” asked Mr. Goldwin, more sharply than was his wont.
“I come down, sir, to see if you can tell me anything about Herbert Randolph.”
“What do you want to know about him?”
“I want to know where he is. He hain’t shown up not sence last night.”
“Was he a friend of yours?”
“Yes, sir, me and him roomed together.”
“You and he roomed together?” repeated the banker, as if he doubted Bob’s word.
“That’s what I said, sir,” answered the newsboy, showing his dislike of the insinuation against his truthfulness.
“I am afraid you are inclined to be stuffy, young man,” replied Mr. Goldwin. “I am unable, however, to give you the information you seek.”
“You don’t know where he is, then?”
“No, I have not seen him since he left here last night.”
“Do you know why he is stayin’ away?”
“Certainly I do not.”
“Done nothin’ wrong. I s’pose?” queried Bob.
“I have not fixed any wrong upon him yet.”
“Then, if he hain’t done no wrong, somethin’s keepin’ him.”
“He may have a motive in staying away,” said the banker, becoming interested in Bob’s keen manner.
“What do you s’pose his motive is?”
“That I cannot tell.”
“Foul play, that’s what I think.”
“Nonsense, boy.”
“I don’t think there’s no nonsense about it. I know he wouldn’t light out jest for fun, not much. Herbert Randolph wasn’t no such a feller. He didn’t have no money, n’ he had to work. Me an’ him had a room together, as I said, an’ his things are in the room now.”
“When did you see him last?” said Mr. Goldwin.
Bob explained all about Herbert’s disappearance, but was careful to say nothing about his suspicions pointing to Felix Mortimer. He saw the latter in the outer office as he entered, and he thought policy bade him keep his suspicions to himself for the present.
“You tell a straightforward story, my boy,” said Mr. Goldwin, “but I cannot think there has been any foul play. In fact, I have heard something against this young Randolph that makes me distrust him. Were it not for this, I should feel more interest in your story, and would do all in my power to try and find him.”
bob hunter speaks up for herbert.
“I don’t believe there’s nothing against him. He’s an honest boy, if I know one when I see him. He liked you and his work, and them that speaks against him is dishonest themselves. That’s what I think about it.”
“But that is only your opinion. Certainly he does not appear in a favorable light at the present time.”
Presently Bob departed from the bank. He had learned all he expected, and even more. He knew now that Felix Mortimer was in Herbert’s place, that Mr. Goldwin had been influenced against his friend by what he believed to be falsehoods, and that Herbert’s whereabouts was as much a mystery at the bank as to himself.
These facts pointed suspiciously to Felix Mortimer. Who else could want to get Herbert out of the way? Bob argued. Having thus settled the matter in his own mind, he was ready to commence testing his theories.
“Tom Flannery,” said Bob, when he had returned from Wall Street, “I’ve struck the trail.”
“No, you hain’t, Bob, not so quick as this?” said Tom, with surprise.
Bob explained what he had learned at the bank.
“Now,” said he, “I want you, Tom, to look out for my business tonight. Get some kid to help you, and mind you see he does his work right.”
“What you goin’ to do, Bob?”
“I’m going to lay round Wall Street till that Mortimer feller comes outer the bank.”
“What do you mean? You hain’t goin’ to knock him out, are you, Bob?”
“Shucks, Tom, you wouldn’t make no kind of a detective. Of course I wouldn’t do that. Why, that would spoil the whole game.”
“Well, then, what are you goin’ to do?”
“Why, I’ll do just as any detective would—follow him, of course.”
“Is that the way they do it, Bob?”
“Some of ’em do, when they have a case like this one.”
“This is a gosh fired hard one, ain’t it, Bob?”
“Well, ’tain’t no boy’s play—not a case like this one.”
“So you’re goin’ to foller him? I wish I could go with you, Bob.”
“But, you see, you must sell papers. I’ll want you to help me later, when I get the case well worked up.”
“It’ll be too big for one detective then, I s’pose?”
“That’s the idea, Tom. Then I’ll call you in,” said Bob, with the swell of a professional.
“I wish ’twas all worked up, Bob, so you’d want to call me in now, as you call it. It’ll be exciting, won’t it?”
“Well, I should think it would, before we get through with it.”
“Say, Bob, will there be any fightin’?” asked Tom, eagerly. He was already excited over the prospects.
“Can’t say that now—hain’t got the case worked up enough to tell. ’Tain’t professional to say too much about a case. None of the detectives does it, and why should I? That’s what I want to know, Tom Flannery.”
“Well, you shouldn’t, Bob, if the rest doesn’t do it.”
“Of course not. It’s no use to be a detective, unless the job is done right and professional. I believe in throwin’ some style into anything like this. ’Tain’t often, you know, Tom, when a feller gets a real genuine case like this one. Why, plenty er boys might make believe they had cases, but they’d be baby cases—only baby cases, Tom Flannery, when you’d compare ’em with this one—a real professional case.”
“I don’t blame you for bein’ proud, Bob,” said Tom, admiringly. “I only wish I had such a case.”
“Why, you’ve got it now; you’re on it with me, hain’t you? Don’t you be silly now, Tom. You’ll get all you want before you get through with this case; an’, when it’s all published in the papers, your name will be printed with mine.”
“Gewhittaker!” exclaimed Tom; “I didn’t think of that before. Will our names really be printed, Bob?”
“Why, of course they will. Detectives’ names are always printed, hain’t they? You make me tired, Tom Flannery. Ishould think you’d know better. Don’t make yourself so redickerlous by askin’ any more questions like that. But just you tend to business, and you’ll get all the glory you want—professional glory, too.”
“It’ll beat jumpin’ off the Brooklyn Bridge, won’t it?” said Tom.
“Well, if you ain’t an idiot, Tom Flannery, I never saw one. To think of comparin’ a detective with some fool that wants cheap notoriety like that! You just wait till you see your name in big letters in the papers along with mine. It’ll be Bob Hunter and Tom Flannery.”
Tom’s eyes bulged out with pride at the prospect. He had never before realized so fully his own importance.
BOB ASSUMES A DISGUISE.
At the close of business hours, Felix Mortimer sauntered up Broadway with something of an air of triumph about him. His jaw was still swollen, and doubtless pained him not a little.
Another boy passed up Broadway at the same time, and only a little way behind Mortimer.
It was Bob Hunter, and he managed to keep the same distance between himself and young Mortimer, whom, in fact, he was “shadowing.” Of course, Mortimer knew nothing of this. In fact, he did not know such a boy as Bob Hunter existed.
At the post office Felix Mortimer turned into Park Row. He stopped and read the bulletins at theMail and Expressoffice. Then he bought an evening paper, and, standing on the steps of theWorldoffice, looked it over hastily.
Now he moved on up Publishers’ Row, passing theTimes, theTribune, and theSunbuildings, and walked along Chatham Street. Presently he emerged into the Bowery. Now he walked more rapidly than he had been doing, so that Bob had to quicken his pace to keep him in sight.
At the corner of Pell Street and the Bowery he met a young man who seemed to be waiting for him.
“I’ve been hanging round here for ’most half an hour,” said he, as if displeased.
“I’m here on time,” replied Felix; “just half past five. Come, let’s have a glass of beer.”
Peter Smartweed was the name of this young fellow, as Bob afterwards found out.
When Felix and his friend passed into the drinking saloon, Bob followed them as far as the door; then he turned back, and sought the disguise of a bootblack.
A young knight of the brush stood near by, with his blacking box slung over his shoulder. Bob arranged with him for the use of it for a few moments, promising to pay over to him all the proceeds he made thereby. He also exchanged his own hat for the cap the boy had on, and, with this head gear pulled down over the left side of his face, the appearance of Bob Hunter was much changed. His accustomed step, quick, firm, and expressive, was changed to that of the nerveless, aimless boy—a sort of shuffle.
Thus disguised, he approached Felix Mortimer and his companion, who were sitting at a table with a partially filled schooner of beer before each of them.
“Shine? shine, boss?” said Bob, in a strange voice.
No response was made by the convivial youths.
“Two for five!” continued Bob, persistently. “Two reg’lar patent leathers for only five cents!”
Peter looked at his boots. They were muddy. Then he argued with himself that Felix had paid for the beer, so it seemed to him that he could not even up the score in any less expensive way than by paying for the shines.
“Do you mean you will give us both a shine for five cents?” said Peter.
“Yes,” drawled Bob, lazily.
“Well, see that they are good ones, now, or I’ll not pay you a cent.”
Bob commenced work on the shoes very leisurely. He seemed the embodiment of stupidity, and blundered along in every way possible to prolong the time.
“How would you like to climb down, Mort, and shine shoes for a living?” said Peter Smartweed, jokingly.
“Perhaps I wouldn’t mind it if I was stupid as the kid fumbling around your shoes seems to be,” replied Felix, in a more serious mood than his companion.
bob hunter plays the detective.
“Well, I think you looked even more stupid than this young Arab last night, when you lay upon the floor.”
“Well, I guess you would have felt stupid, too, if you had got such a clip as I did,” retorted Felix, as he nursed his swollen jaw with his hand.
“It was a stunning blow, for a fact. John L. Sullivan couldn’t have done it neater. I didn’t think, Mort, that that young countryman could hit such a clip, did you?”
“No, I didn’t; and I’m mighty sure you don’t realize now what a stinging blow he hit me. You talk about it as if it didn’t amount to much. Well, all I’ve got to say is, I don’t want to see you mauled so, but I wish you knew how good it felt to be floored the way I was.”
“No, thank you,” said Peter; “I don’t want any of it. But you looked so comical, as you fell sprawling, that I couldn’t help laughing. I believe I would have laughed if you had been killed.”
Bob Hunter’s ears were now wide open.
“I couldn’t see anything to laugh about,” said Felix, bitterly.
“That isn’t very strange, either. You naturally wouldn’t, under the circumstances,” laughed young Smartweed.
“Come, now, let up,” said Felix. “Your turn may come.”
“I expect it will, if this young farmer ever gets after me.”
“But you don’t expect him to get out, do you?”
“I hadn’t thought much about it. My part of the programme was to get him into old Gunwagner’s den, and I did it without any accident.”
Felix looked hard at his companion. He knew the last part of this sentence was a sarcastic thrust at him.
Bob grew excited, and found it difficult to restrain himself. He felt certain now that these two young villains were talking about his friend Herbert Randolph.
“No accident would have happened to me, either, if he hadn’t hit me unawares,” protested young Mortimer, with a bit of sourness about his manner. “I allow I could get away with him in a fair fight.”
“Oh, no, you couldn’t, Mort; he is too much for you. I could see that in a minute, by the way he handled himself.”
Young Mortimer’s face flushed. He didn’t like the comparison.
“Well, he won’t bother me again very soon,” said he, vindictively.
“Didn’t they tumble to anything crooked at the bank?” asked Peter, after a few moments’ serious thought.
“No.”
“I don’t see why. The circumstances look suspicious.”
“Well, they didn’t suspect the truth.”
“You’re in luck, then, that is all I have to say.”
“I shall be, you mean, when we get him out of the way.”
“He seems to be pretty well out of your way now.”
“But that won’t last forever. He must be got out of New York, that’s all. Old Gunwagner will not keep him round very long, you may be sure of that.”
“You don’t know how to shine a shoe,” growled Smartweed to our young detective. “See the blacking you have put on the upper! Wipe it off, I say; at once, too.”
Bob’s blood boiled with indignation, and he was about to reply sharply, when he remembered that he was now acting the detective, and so he said:
“All right, boss; I’ll fix it fer yer;” and he removed the superfluous blacking with great care. There was no longer any doubt in his mind about Herbert being a prisoner. He was satisfied that his friend was in the clutches of old Gunwagner, and he knew from the conversation that he was in danger of being lost forever to New York and to his friends.
The situation was an alarming one. Bob pictured vividly the worst possibilities of our hero’s fate.
Presently, after young Smartweed had lighted a cigarette and taken a few puffs, he said, absentmindedly:
“So you are going to send him away from New York?”
“Of course, you don’t s’pose we would be very safe with him here, do you?” replied Mortimer.
“Safe enough, so long as he is in old Gunwagner’s cell. But what is to be done with him? Send him back to Vermont?”
“Not much; he won’t go there unless he escapes.”
“It’s rough on the fellow, Mort, to run him off to sea, or to make him a prisoner in the bottom of a coal barge or canal boat. But that is what he is likely to get from that old shark,” said Peter Smartweed, meaning Gunwagner.
“Don’t you get soft hearted now,” replied Felix, in a hard voice.
“I’m not soft hearted, Mort, and you know it, but I don’t like this business, any way.”
“What did you go into it for, then?”
“What do we do anything for? I thought, from what you said, that he was a coarse young countryman. But he don’t seem like it. In fact I believe he is too nice a fellow to be ruined for life.”
“Perhaps you’d better get him out then,” said Mortimer, sarcastically.
“You talk like a fool,” replied Smartweed, testily.
“So do you,” retorted his companion, firing up; and he nursed his aching jaw as if to lend emphasis to his remarks. These explosions suddenly ended the discussion, and as soon as their shoes were polished, the two young villains left the saloon. Mortimer turned up the Bowery, and Smartweed passed into a side street leading towards Broadway.
Bob readily dropped his assumed character of bootblack, and quickly started in pursuit of Felix Mortimer.
The latter went directly home, where he remained for nearly an hour. At the end of this time, he emerged from the house, much to the young detective’s relief. He had waited outside all this time, patiently watching for Felix’s reappearance.
Though cold and hungry, Bob could not afford to give up the chase long enough even to get a bit of lunch. He had made wonderful progress so far in his detective work, and he felt, as he had a right to feel, highly elated over his discoveries.
Now he was shadowing young Mortimer again. Down the Bowery they went till they came to a side street in a disreputable locality. Here they turned towards the East River, and presently Felix Mortimer left the sidewalk and disappeared within the door of an old building.
“So this is Gunwagner’s, is it?” said Bob to himself. “At least I s’pose ’tis, from what them fellers said—Gunwagner—yes, that’s the name. Well, this may not be it, but I’m pretty sure it is,” he continued, reasoning over the problem.
After fixing the house and its locality securely in his mind, and after having waited till he satisfied himself that Mortimer intended remaining there for a time, he made a lively trip to City Hall Park, where he joined young Flannery.
“Well, Bob, have you struck anything?” said Tom, instantly, and with much more than a passing interest.
“Yes; I’ve struck it rich—reg’lar detective style, I tell you, Tom,” said Bob, with pride and enthusiasm. And then he briefly related all his discoveries.
“Nobody could er worked the business like you, Bob,” said Tom, admiringly.
“Well, I did throw a little style into it, I think myself,” repliedBob. “But,” he continued, “there’s no time now for talking the matter over. We’ve got some work to do. I’ve got the place located, and I want you to go with me now, and see what we can do.”
Within five minutes the two boys were on their way to Christopher Gunwagner’s, and as they passed hurriedly along the streets they formed a hasty plan for immediate action—a plan cunningly devised for outwitting this miserable old fence and his villainous companions.
SOMETHING ABOUT HERBERT RANDOLPH.
Had our young hero been more wary, he would not have so easily fallen a victim to the deceit of the genial stranger whom he met on the Bowery. He should have been more cautious, and less ready to assume friendly relations with a stranger. His lack of prudence in this respect was almost inexcusable, inasmuch as he had been warned by Bob Hunter to look out for himself. Moreover, his suspicions should have been excited by the two young fellows he saw on Wall Street, who appeared to be shadowing him.
But none of these prudential thoughts seemed to occur to young Randolph. In Vermont, he spoke to every one with a frank, open confidence. He had always done so from his earliest recollections. Others in his locality did the same. Unrestrained social intercourse was the universal custom of the people. Habit is a great power in one’s life. It guided our hero on this fatal night, and he talked freely and confidentially with his new acquaintance.
“Have you ever been in one of these Bowery museums?” asked the genial young man, after they had chatted for a little time.
“No, I have not,” replied Herbert, in a hesitating manner that implied his desire to enter.
This young man was the same one whose boots Bob Hunter blackened when he was acting the detective, otherwise Peter Smartweed.
The latter smiled at the readiness with which young Randolph caught at the bait.
“Well, you have missed a treat,” said he, with assumed surprise.
“I suppose so,” replied Herbert, feeling that his education had been neglected.
“They have some wonderful curiosities in some of these museums,” continued the young confidence scamp.
“So I should think, from the looks of these pictures.”
“But this is the poorest museum on the Bowery. There are some great curiosities in some of them, and a regular show.”
“Have you been in all of them?” asked Herbert.
“Oh, yes, dozens of times. Why, I can go into one of the museums whenever I like, without paying a cent, and it is the best one in New York.”
“Can you?” said Herbert, with surprise. “I wish I could go in free.”
“I can fix that for you all right,” said Peter, magnanimously. “I often take a friend in with me.”
“And it doesn’t cost you anything?”
“No, not a cent. If you like, we will stroll down the Bowery, and drop in for a little while. By the way, I remember now that a new curiosity, a three headed woman, is on exhibition there.”
“A three headed woman!” exclaimed Herbert; “she must be a wonderful sight!”
“So she is. Come on, let’s go and see her. It is not down very far. You have nothing to do, I suppose?”
“No, only to pass the time away for an hour or so.”
“Very well, then, you can’t pass it in any more agreeable way than this, I am sure.”
“You are very kind,” replied Herbert, as they moved off in the direction of the supposed museum. He had no thought of danger, as he walked along with his new friend, happy in anticipation of the pleasure before him. Could he, however, have realized that he was the victim of a shrewd confidence game, that every step he now took was bringing him nearer to the trap that had been set for him by cruel, unscrupulous villains, how his whole being would have revolted against the presence of the unprincipled fellow beside him, who was now coolly leading him on to his ruin.
Presently they turned up a side street, and soon stopped before a low, ugly building.