a surprise for felix mortimer.“The museum is on the next street,” remarked young Smartweed, as he rang the bell three times. “We have to walk through this court, to reach it by the back passage.”Still Herbert’s suspicions slumbered.And now the catch to the door was pulled back, and our unfortunate hero and his companion passed in. The hallway was ominously dark. They groped their way forward till a second door was reached, and here the leader knocked three times, then paused for a moment and knocked once more.After a brief interval three more knocks precisely like the first were given, and then the door opened.The two stepped quickly into the room, and Herbert’s arms were instantly seized by some one from behind the door, and drawn backward by an effort to fasten the wrists together behind him. Quicker than thought, young Randolph wrested his arms from the grip that was upon them, and, turning like a flash, planted a solid blow upon the jaw of his assailant—a blow which sent him, with a terrified yell, sprawling to the floor.Then it was that he recognized, in the prostrate figure, Felix Mortimer, and a sickening sense of the awful truth dawned upon him. He was trapped!The genial friend whom he had met on the Bowery now showed his real character, and before Herbert could further defend himself, he was pounced upon by him and a villainous looking man with a scraggy red beard and most repulsive features. They threw a thick black cloth over his head, and, after binding his hands firmly together, thrust him into a dark vault, or pen, in the cellar.Our hero realized now most fully his helpless and defenseless position—a position that placed him entirely at the mercy of his enemies; if mercy in any degree dwelt in the breasts of the cruel band of outlaws in whose den he was now a prisoner.CHAPTER XI.IMPRISONED AT THE FENCE.“This is a fine beginning to a city career—short but brilliant,” said young Randolph to himself, bitterly, as he mused upon his deplorable situation.“Fool that I was! It’s all plain enough to me now,” he continued, after a half hour’s deep thought, in which he traced back, step by step, his experiences since landing in the big city. “I ought to have recognized him at once—the villain! He is the very fellow I saw across the street with his pal, as I left the bank. I thought he looked familiar, but I’ve seen so many people in this great town that I’m not surprised at my miss. Mighty bad miss, though; one that has placed me in a box trap, and under ground at that.”Herbert was right in his conclusions. The fellow who had so cleverly played the confidence game upon him was the same one who awaited his appearance in Wall Street, and afterwards shadowed him up Broadway.“This must all be the work of that young villain Mortimer,” continued Herbert, still reasoning on the subject. “I ought to have been sharper; Bob told me to look out for him. If I had had any sense, I could have seen that he meant to be revenged upon me. I knew it, and yet I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that I was at all uneasy. He must have beenthe same one that pointed me out to this confidence fellow on Wall Street. He was probably made up with false side whiskers and mustache, so that I wouldn’t recognize him.“Well,” said he, starting up suddenly from his reverie, “how is all this reasoning about how I came to get into this trap going to help me to get out of it? That is what I want to know;” and he commenced exploring his dark, damp cell, in search of some clew that would aid him in solving the problem.He was not alarmed about his personal safety. Up to this time, happily, no such thought had entered his mind. He sanguinely looked upon his imprisonment as merely temporary.In this opinion, however, he erred greatly. The same rural credulity that made him the victim of Peter Smartweed, now led him to suppose that the unscrupulous rascals who held him a prisoner would soon release him. He looked upon the matter as simply one of revenge on the part of Mortimer. He little realized his true situation, and did not even dream of the actual significance of his imprisonment. He therefore felt a sense of genuine consolation when he thought of the well deserved blow he had delivered upon his enemy’s jaw; and several times, as he prowled around the cell, he laughed heartily, thinking of Mortimer’s ridiculous appearance as he lay stretched upon the floor.Herbert Randolph was full of human nature, and human nature of the best sort—warm blooded, natural, sensible. There was nothing pale and attenuated about him. He was full of spirits, was manly, kind and generous, and yet he could appreciate heartily a point honorably gained on the enemy. Thus instead of giving himself up to despair and grief, he tried to derive all the comfort possible out of his situation.is cell was dark as night. He could not see his own hands, and the dampness and musty odor, often noticeable in old cellars, added much to his discomfort. He found that the cell was made of strong three inch slats, securely bolted to thick timbers. These strips, or slats, were about three inches apart. The door was made in the same manner, and was fastened with a padlock. Altogether his cell was more like a cage than anything else; however, it seemed designed to hold him securely against all efforts to escape from his captors.The door, as previously stated, was fastened by a padlock. Herbert learned this by putting his hands through the slats, and carefully going over every part of the fastening arrangement.This discovery gave him slight hopes. The lock he judged to be one of the ordinary cheap ones such as his father always used on his cornhouse and barn doors. Now he had on several occasions opened these locks by means of a stiff wire, properly bent. Therefore, should this lock prove to be one of the same kind, and should fortune place within his reach a suitable piece of wire, or even a nail of the right sort, he felt that he could make good his escape from this cell.“But should I succeed in this,” he very prudently reasoned, “would I be any better off? That heavy trap door is undoubtedly fastened down, and, so far as I know, that is the only means of exit; but—— What is that?” he suddenly said to himself, as he felt the cold shivers creep over him.The sound continues. It seems like rasping or grating. Louder and more distinct it grows, as Herbert’s imagination becomes more active.Every sound to one in his situation, in that dark, lonesomecellar, could easily be interpreted to mean many forms of danger to him. But at length he reasons, from the irregular rasping, and from other slight evidences, that this noise is the gnawing of hungry rats.What a frightful and alarming discovery this is to him! It strikes terror to his brave young heart, and makes cold beads of perspiration stand out upon his brow. And as these silent drops—the evidence of suffering—trickle down his face one by one, chilly and dispiriting, he grows sick to the very core.Alone in a dark, damp cellar, with no means of defense—not even a stick, a knife, or any sort of implement to protect himself from the hordes of rats that now surround him.This indeed is a night of terror to our young hero. He does not dare to throw himself upon the bench, lest he should sleep, and, sleeping, be attacked by these dreadful rats.Accordingly, he commenced walking back and forth in his cell, as a caged tiger walks hour after hour from one end to the other of his narrow confines.“This will keep me awake,” said he to himself, with an attempt to rouse his spirits; “and it will also keep the rats away.”After he had paced thus for a time, he heard steps above him, and instantly he called out for aid. He called again and again, but the inhuman ear of old Gunwagner was deaf to his imploring cries.The sound of footsteps was soon lost, and all was still save the gnawing of the rats. Herbert listened quietly for a time, to study their movements. Soon he heard them scampering about in all parts of the cellar. From the noise they made he judged them to be very large; and they were certainly bold,for now they were running about in contemptuous disregard of young Randolph’s presence. Occasionally he would yell at them, and kick vigorously upon the framework of his cell. By this means he kept them at a somewhat respectful distance.And now his mind reverted again to the cause of his imprisonment. As the long, weary hours dragged by, he studied the matter with the utmost care, giving painstaking thought to the slightest details and the most trivial acts. His points were, consequently, well made. They were reasonable, logical, probable. The scheme broadened as he progressed. What he had supposed to be a mere matter of revenge now loomed up clearly and distinctly before him as a bold plot against himself—a piece of outrageous villainy that fairly appalled him.He saw Felix Mortimer in his place in the bank; saw himself looked upon by Mr. Goldwin with suspicion and disgust. And this feeling, he knew, would extend to his daughter—bright, winsome Ray.It was odd that Herbert should think of her in this connection, while in such mental agony. He had seen her but once, and then only for a minute. True, she was wonderfully pretty, and her manner was irresistibly attractive, but young Randolph was of a serious turn of mind. No, he was not one to become infatuated with any girl, however charming; he never had been, and, to use his own language, he did not propose to become so. But he could not help thinking of Ray in connection with this matter. He recalled how her sunny presence lighted up the bank that very afternoon, and in imagination he saw her bright, mischievous blue eyes, brimful of fun and merriment, as he handed her into her carriage.“She did look sweet, confounded if she didn’t,” said Herbert to himself, forgetting for the time his sorrow; “sweet andpretty as a peach, and her cheeks had the same rich, delicate tint. Her hair—— Great Scott!” ejaculated young Randolph, suddenly awaking to what he had been saying. “Another evidence of my being a fool. I’d better have stayed on the farm,” he continued, more or less severely.young randolph at last falls asleep exhausted.“Well, I’m a prisoner,” he said, sadly, after a thoughtful pause. “It doesn’t matter much what I think or say. But, somehow or other, I wish I had never seen her,” he continued, meditatively. “Now she will think of me only with contempt, just as her father will. Of course she will; it would be only natural.”Exhausted, weary, and even overburdened with oppressive thought, he sat down on the wooden bench in his cell. The rats still gnawed and frolicked, and prowled at will. Herbert listened to them for a moment; then he thought of his dear mother and father, of his home, his own comfortable bed.A stray tear now stole down his cheeks, and then another. The poor boy was overcome, and he gave way to a sudden outburst of grief. Then he rested his head in his hand, and tried to think again. But his mind was wearied to exhaustion.“My mother, my mother and father! Oh, how I wish I could see them! What would they do if they only knew where I am?”He paused after this utterance; and now his thoughts suddenly ceased their weary wanderings. All was quiet, and the long measured breathing gave evidence that our young hero slept.CHAPTER XII.BOB’S BRILLIANT MOVE.“But I say, Bob, I don’t jest see how we are goin’ to get into that den,” said Tom Flannery, thoughtfully, as he and his companion hurried along towards old Gunwagner’s.“Don’t you?” replied Bob, carelessly, as if the matter was of trivial importance.“No, I don’t. Do you, Bob?”“Do you think, Tom Flannery, that a detective is goin’ to tell all he knows—is goin’ to give away the game before it’s played?” said Bob, with feigned displeasure.He asked this question to evade the one put to him.“I thought they always told them as was in the secret, don’t they?”“Well, I must say you have some of the ignorantest ideas of any boy I ever see,” said Bob, with assumed surprise.Young Flannery looked sad, and made no reply.“The trouble with you, Tom, is that you worry too much,” continued the juvenile detective.“I ain’t worryin’, Bob. What made you think that? I only wanted to know what’s the racket, an’ what I’ve got to do.”“Well, you s’pose I bro’t you up here to do somethin’, don’t you?”“Of course you did, Bob. But what is it? That’s what I want to know.”“You ask more questions than any feller I ever see, Tom Flannery. Now you jest tell me what any detective would do, on a case like this one is, and tell me what he’d want you to do, an’ then I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”Tom looked grave, and tried hard to think.The fact of the matter is that Bob himself hardly knew what step to take next, in order to carry out the plan he had formed. But his reputation was at stake. He thought he must make a good showing before Tom, though the matter of gaining an entrance to Gunwagner’s was far from clear to him. He therefore wanted Tom’s opinion, but it would not do to ask him for it, so he adopted this rather sharp device.“Blamed if I can tell, Bob, what a detective would do,” replied Tom. “You see I ain’t no natural detective like you. But I should think he’d swoop down on the den and scoop it.”“And that’s what you think a reg’lar detective would do?”“Yes. I don’t see nothin’ else for him to do.”“Well, how would he do it?”“I ain’t no detective, Bob, so I don’t know.”“I didn’t s’pose you did know, Tom Flannery, so now I’ll tell you,” said Bob, who had seized upon his companion’s suggestion. “A regular detective, if he was in my place, and had you to help him, would do jest what I’m going to do, and that is to send you into the den first, to see what you can find out.”“Send me in?” exclaimed Tom, incredulously.“Yes, that’s what I said, wasn’t it?”“And that’s what a reg’lar detective would do?”“Yes.”“And that’s what you’re goin’ to do?”“Yes, of course it is. Why wouldn’t I do the same as any other detective? That’s what I want to know.”“Of course you would, Bob, but I couldn’t do nothin’ if I should go in,” said Tom, gently protesting against the proposed plan of action.“You can do what I tell you to, can’t you?”“I don’t know nothin’ about it, any way, I tell you,” replied Tom, showing more plainly his disinclination to obedience.“Tom Flannery, I wouldn’t er believed that you would back out this way,” said Bob, with surprise.“Well, I don’t want to be a detective no way. I don’t care nothin’ about my name bein’ in the paper.”“You hain’t got no ambition. If you had, you’d show some spunk now. ’Tain’t often a feller has a chance to get into a case like this one is.”“Well, I don’t care if it ain’t, that’s what I say.”“I thought you wanted to be a detective, and couldn’t wait, hardly, for me to work up the case.”“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to climb into places like this old Gunwagner’s. ’Tain’t what I call bein’ a detective no way.”“You make me tired, Tom Flannery. You get the foolishest notions into your head of any boy I ever see.”“Well, I don’t care if I do. I know plenty detectives don’t do nothin’ like this. They jest dress up and play the gentleman, that’s what they do.”“And that’s the kind of a detective you want to be, is it?”“Yes, it is; there ain’t no danger about that kind of bein’ a detective.”“Tom, you’d look great tryin’ to be a gentleman, wouldn’t you? I’d like to see you, Tom Flannery, a gentleman!” said Bob, derisively. “It makes me sick, such talk.”Tom was silent for a time. Evidently he thought there was some ground for Bob’s remarks.But an idea occurred to him now.“Bob,” said he, “if you like bein’ this kind of a detective, why don’t you go in yourself, instead of sendin’ me? Now, answer me that, will you?”“It wouldn’t be reg’lar professional like, and then there wouldn’t be no style about it.”Tom made no reply. In fact there seemed nothing further for him to say; Bob’s answer left no chance for argument.The two boys now stood opposite Gunwagner’s. Presently a boy with a package in his hand approached the house, and, looking nervously about him, as if he feared he was watched, walked up the stoop and rang the bell three times. He did not see the two young detectives, as they were partially hidden by a big telegraph pole.After a time the door opened, and he passed in. Bob noticed that it was very dark inside, and wondered why no light shone.“I couldn’t get in, nohow, if I wanted to,” said Tom, trying to justify himself for his seeming cowardice.“Does look so,” assented Bob, absentmindedly.“I wouldn’t like to be a prisoner in there; would you, Bob?”“No, of course I wouldn’t.”“I wish we could get your chum out.”“I wish so, too; but you don’t s’pose we can do it by standing here, do you?”“No, but I don’t know nothin’ to do; do you, Bob?”“If I told you what to do, you wouldn’t do it.”“Well, I didn’t see no sense in my goin’ in there alone, nohow.”“I did, if you didn’t. I wanted you to look round and see what you could find out, and post me, so when I went in I could do the grand act.”“I wouldn’t a’ got out to post you, Bob. They’d a’ kept me—that’s what they’d done.”The door now opened, and out came the same boy who but a few minutes before had entered the Gunwagner den. He looked cautiously about him, and then started down the street toward the East River. He was a small boy, of about twelve years of age, while our two detectives were several years his senior. From remarks dropped by Felix Mortimer and Peter Smartweed, Bob surmised that Gunwagner might keep a fence, and the suspicious manner of this small boy confirmed his belief.“Here’s our chance,” whispered Bob, nervously. “You follow this boy up, and don’t let him get away from you. I’ll rush ahead and cut him off. Keep close to him, so we can corner him when I whistle three times.”“All right,” said Tom, with his old show of enthusiasm, and each commenced the pursuit.Between Allen and Orchard Streets the detectives closed in on the small boy. Bob had put himself fairly in front of him, and Tom followed close behind. The chief detective slackened his pace very perceptibly, and seemed to be trying to make out the number on the house before which he now halted.“Can you tell me where old Gunwagner lives?” said he, addressing the small boy, who was now about to pass by.The boy stopped suddenly, and the color as suddenly left his face.Bob had purposely chosen this locality, close to a gaslight, so that he might note the effect of his question upon the boy. Now he gave the signal as agreed upon, and Tom instantly came up and took a position that made retreat for the lad impossible. The latter saw this, and burst into tears. Conscious of his own guilt, he needed no further accuser to condemn him.“Don’t take it so hard,” said Bob; “you do the square thing, and we won’t blow on you—will we, Tom?”“No, we won’t,” replied the latter.“We saw you when you went into Gunwagner’s—saw the package in your hand, and know the whole game,” continued Bob. “Now, if you will help us put up a job, why, we will let you off; but if you don’t come down square and do the right thing, why, we will jest run you in, and you’ll get a couple of years or more on the Island. Now what do you say?”“What do you want me to do?” sobbed the small boy, trembling with fear.“I want you to go back with us, and take me into Gunwagner’s.”Tom was an interested listener, for he knew nothing about Bob’s plans or purposes.From further questionings, and many threats, our detectives found that a number of boys were in the habit of taking stolen goods to this miserable old fence. The number mixed up in the affair Bob did not learn, but he ascertained the fact that Felix Mortimer had often been seen there by this lad.“Now me and Tom are doin’ the detective business,” said the chief; “and if you want to be a detective with us, you can join right in.”“I want to go home,” sobbed the boy.“Well, you can’t, not now,” said Bob, emphatically. “We hain’t got no time for nonsense. You’ve either got to go along with me and Tom, and help us, or we will run you in. Now which will you do?”The boy yielded to the eloquence of the chief detective, and accompanied him and Tom back to old Gunwagner’s. The boldness of this move captured young Flannery’s admiration.“Now this is what I call bein’ detectives, Bob,” whispered he. “Gewhittaker, I didn’t think, though, you could do it so grand. I don’t believe nobody could beat you.”Bob nodded his approval of the compliment, and then addressed himself to the young lad.“I want you,” said he, “to take me in and say I’m a friend of yours who wants to sell somethin’. You needn’t do nothin’ more. Every detective puts up jobs like this, so ’tain’t tellin’ nothin’ wrong.”Then, turning to his companion, he added:“Now, Tom, if this boy ain’t square, and he does anything so I get into Gunwagner’s clutches, and can’t get out, why I want you to go for an officer, and come and arrest this boy and the whole gang.”The lad trembled. “I won’t do nothin’,” he protested. “I’ll do just what you want me to.”“All right; you do so, and you’ll save yourself a visit to the Island. Now, when I am talking with old Gunwagner, if I tell you to come outside and get the package I left at the door, why, you come jest as if I did have it there, and you come right straight for Tom, and he will tell you what to do. And mind you be sure and don’t close the outside door, for I want you toleave it so you and Tom can get in without ringing the bell, for that’s the secret of the whole job.”The boy readily assented to Bob’s conditions and commands, and then the chief gave his companion secret instructions, to be acted upon after he himself had gone into the very den of the old fence.CHAPTER XIII.A TERRIBLE FEAR.It was towards morning when Herbert Randolph fell asleep on the night of his imprisonment. He had fought manfully to keep awake, dreading the consequences of slumber, but tired nature gave way at last, and our young hero slept, unconscious now of danger.The rats that he so much feared still frolicked, and prowled, and gnawed, as they had done for hours. They climbed upon boxes and barrels, and made their way into every corner and crevice. Everything was inspected by them.More inquisitive rats than these never infested the metropolis. Now they went in droves, and scampered from place to place like a flock of frightened sheep. Then they strayed apart and prowled for a time alone. An occasional fight came off by way of variety, and in these battles the vanquished, and perhaps their supporters, often squealed like so many young pigs.Thus the carousal continued hour after hour, and that old Gunwagner cellar was for the time a diminutive bedlam. Our young hero, nevertheless, slept on and on, unconscious of this racket.After a while the rats grew bolder. Their curiosity became greater, and then they began to investigate more carefully thestate of things within the prison cell, and at length their attention was turned to the quiet sleeper.Well bred rats are always cautious, and therefore are somewhat respectful, but the drove at old Gunwagner’s did not show this desirable trait. In fact they were not unlike the old fence himself—daring, avaricious and discourteous. No better proof of this could be instanced than their disreputable treatment of our young hero.Rats, as a rule, show a special fondness for leather. Undoubtedly it is palatable to them. But this fact would not justify them in the attempt they made to appropriate to themselves Herbert’s boots. The propriety of such an act was most questionable, and no well mannered rats would have allowed themselves to become a party to such a raid. But as a matter of fact, and as Herbert learned to his sorrow, there were no well mannered rats at old Gunwagner’s—none but a thieving, quarrelsome lot.After a council of war had been held, and a great amount of reconnoitering had been done, it was decided that these rural boots could not be removed from their rightful owner in their present shape; therefore they fell vigorously to work to reduce them to a more movable condition.When Herbert fell asleep, he was sitting on a bench with his feet upon the floor. He was still in this position, with his head resting in his hand, and his elbow supported by the side of his prison cell, when the rats made war on his boots. They gnawed and chipped away at them at a lively rate, and in a little time the uppers were entirely destroyed. The cotton linings, to be sure, were still intact, as these they did not trouble. Evidently cotton cloth was not a tempting diet for them.Up to this time Herbert had not moved a muscle since hefell asleep, but now a troubled dream or something else, I know not what, disturbed him. Possibly it was the continued gnawing on his already shattered boots. It might, however, have been the fear of these dreadful rats, or the repulsive image of old Gunwagner, that haunted him and broke the soundness of his slumbers.Presently he opened his eyes, drowsily, and his first half waking impression was the peculiar sensation at his feet. In another instant a full realization of the cause of this feeling darted into his mind, and with a pitiful cry of terror he bounded into the air like a frightened deer. And to add to the horror of his situation, in descending his right foot came down squarely upon one of the rats, which emitted a strange cry, a sort of squeal, that sent a thrill throughout every nerve of our hero’s body.A second leap brought him standing upon the bench upon which he had been sitting.If ever a boy had good reason to be frightened, it was Herbert Randolph. His situation was one to drive men mad—in that dark, damp cellar, thus surrounded and beset by this countless horde of rats. The cold perspiration stood out upon him, and he trembled with an uncontrollable fear.Something was wrong with his feet. He knew that, for his shoes now barely hung upon them. To what extent the rats had gone he dreaded to know. Already he could feel his feet smart and burn in a peculiar manner. Had they received poisonous bites, he asked himself? The mere suggestion of such a condition to one in his frightened state of mind was quite as bad, for the time, as actual wounds would have been.A rat isn’t very good company at any time. Under the most favorable conditions his presence has a tendency to sendpeople upon chairs or the nearest table, and not infrequently they do this little act with a whoop that would do credit to a genuine frontier Indian. When, therefore, we consider this fact, it is not difficult to realize the alarming situation in which our young hero was, and but for the timely sound of footsteps overhead it is impossible to predict what might have been the result of this terrible mental strain on him.suddenly realizing his horrible situation, herbert sprang upon the bench with a pitiful cry of terror.The night had worn away, the old fence was again on the move, and Herbert’s piercing cry brought him to the room over the cell. No sooner had our young friend heard this sound above his head than he appealed forhelp. So alarming were his cries that even old Gunwagner was at length moved to go to his assistance. He retraced his steps to the front of the house, and, taking a lighted lamp with him, passed down through the trap door, and then made his way into the rear cellar to Herbert’s cell.Never before in his life had the presence of a human being been so welcome as was that of Gunwagner to our frightened hero. What a relief to this oppressive darkness was that small lamp light, and how quickly it drove all the rats into their hiding places.“What’s all this row about?” growled the old fence.“These rats,” gasped Herbert, with a strange, wild look; “see, they have bitten me,” pointing to his boots, or what remained of them.Gunwagner’s heart softened a trifle as he beheld the boy’s sufferings, and saw how he had been assailed.“Are you sure they have bit you?” said he, uneasily.“Look! see!” replied Herbert, holding out the worst mutilated boot. He fully believed he had been bitten, though, as a matter of fact, he had not.The old fence became alarmed, fearing the annoyance and possible danger that might follow; but when he had satisfied himself by a careful examination that young Randolph had sustained no injuries, he speedily changed back to his old hard manner again—a cold, cruel manner that showed no mercy.Herbert begged to be released from his prison pen, but his pleadings were of no avail.“Why are you treating me in this inhuman way?” asked he. “What have I done that I should be shut up here by you?”Old Gunwagner looked hard at him, but made no reply.“I know why it is,” continued our hero, growing bold and defiant when he saw it was useless to plead for kindness; “I can see through the whole scheme now; but you mark my words, old man, you will suffer for this cruelty, and so will your friend Felix Mortimer.”These words came from the lips of the young prisoner with such terrible emphasis that old Gunwagner, hardened as he was in sin, grew pale, and trembled visibly for his own safety.CHAPTER XIV.BOB OUTWITS THE OLD FENCE.Bob easily gained admittance to the den by the aid of his confederate. He found there old Gunwagner, Felix Mortimer, and another boy, who passed out just after the young detective entered. The old fence eyed Bob sharply, and perhaps somewhat suspiciously. The manner of the small boy was excited. He did not appear natural, and this alone was sufficient to attract the old man’s attention.It was a critical moment for Bob. He did not know that the boy would not turn against him. In fact, he half suspected he would, but nevertheless he was willing to take the chance in the interest of Herbert, and that he might do a skillful piece of detective work. Moreover, there was the danger of being recognized by Felix Mortimer, who had seen him twice that very day; once at the bank in the morning, and again in the afternoon when Bob played the role of bootblack.Old Gunwagner questioned him sharply. The small boy, however, told the story precisely in accordance with Bob’s instructions. The young detective meanwhile hastily surveyed the room and its furnishings, and when he had discovered what he thought would serve his purpose, he turned to his confederate, and said:“Well, I believe I’ll let this man have the things I broughtwith me. You may go out and get them, and bring them in here.”“Why didn’t you bring them in with you?” asked the fence, suavely.“I didn’t know as we could trade, so I thought I’d better leave ’em outside,” answered Bob, carelessly.When Tom saw the boy come out alone, he knew the part he was to act, and following out the directions of his chief, he and the confederate rushed into the dark passageway leading to the fence, and yelled “Fire” with all the power they could command. Before giving the alarm, however, they lighted a newspaper, and placed it near the outer door.Bob had purposely made his way to a far corner of the room, so that, as a matter of fact, he was farther from the place of exit than either Mortimer or Gunwagner. This was part of his scheme.When the cry of fire reached the old fence, he bounded to the door like a frightened deer. Throwing it open, his eyes instantly fell upon the great flames that shot up from the burning paper. The sight struck terror to him, and, with an agonized cry, he rushed down the hallway to the immediate scene of the conflagration, with Felix Mortimer not far behind him.A gust of wind now blew in through the partially open door, and scattered the charred remains of the newspaper all about the feet of the fence. In a few seconds all traces of the fire were lost, and then the trick dawned upon the old man. He was furious with rage, and ran out into the street, to try and discover the perpetrators of the deed.Tom and the confederate remained on the opposite side of the street till Gunwagner and Mortimer appeared at the door. Bob had instructed Tom to do this.Both Gunwagner and Felix tumbled into this trap, which, by the way, was a skillful one for our detective to set. As soon as they caught sight of the two boys, they started after them in hot pursuit, but Tom and the young lad were excellent runners, and, having a good start of their pursuers, they kept well ahead of them.Seeing, therefore, that the chase was a hopeless one, the old fence and Mortimer returned to the den. The former was almost desperately ugly. He growled and raved in a frightful manner, that quite alarmed our young detective.“What has become of that new boy?” asked Felix, who was the first to think about him.Gunwagner was so thoroughly agitated that up to this time he had not thought about Bob. At young Mortimer’s reminder, however, he stopped suddenly in his ravings, and the color as quickly left his face. Then he hurried to where a box containing silver and other valuables were kept.“It’s here,” he gasped, almost paralyzed with the fear that it had been stolen by the strange boy.“Is anything else missing?” asked Felix.Our young detective was at this minute doubled up in a large box that was stowed away under a sort of makeshift counter. He had hurriedly concealed himself in this manner during the absence of the fence and Felix.“I’ll look things over and see,” said old Gunwagner, replying to Mortimer’s question.Bob thought the game was all up with him now. He felt much as Tom Flannery did. He, too, “didn’t want to be a detective, no how.”“There’s no show for me if this old tyrant gets his hands on to me,” said Bob to himself, as he lay cramped up in thatdirty box, hardly daring to breathe. “I didn’t think about it comin’ out this way; if I had, I would a’ fixed things with Tom different. Now I suppose he’s gone home, as I told him to, and I can’t look for no help from him or nobody else.”gunwagner pursuing the boys.The situation was a depressing one, and it grew more so as the mousing old fence came nearer and nearer to where our young detective lay. He searched high and low for traces of theft, and examined everything with careful scrutiny.He was now close to Bob’s hiding place.“He must be hid away here somewhere,” said Felix, with a very anxious look upon his face.“What makes you think so?” asked the old man, as he noticed young Mortimer’s anxiety.No boy ever tried harder to suppress his breath than Bob Hunter did at this instant. “It’sall up with me now,” said he to himself. “They’ll get me sure; but I’ll die game.”“It looks suspicious to me, and that’s why I think so,” replied Felix, showing no little alarm.“I don’t see nothing suspicious about it, as long as nothing is missing.”“To be sure, but I believe he is the same boy that was in the bank today looking for this Randolph.”“And he is the boy that the old banker told you about?”“Yes; the newsboy who said some foul play had overtaken Randolph.”The old fence looked exceedingly troubled.“We must capture this young Arab,” said he, emphatically, after a few moments’ careful thought.Bob’s ears missed nothing. This conversation interested him through and through.“Arab!” said he to himself. “If I don’t get caught I’ll show you whether I’m an Arab or not.”“Perhaps he is already in there,” suggested Mortimer again.“We will go down cellar and see,” said the old man. “He might have gone down through that trap door while we was out.”“That’s what I thought; and he and Randolph may already be hatching up some plan for escaping,” said Felix.Why old Gunwagner neglected to search the big box under the counter is inexplicable. Possibly the hand of destiny shielded the young detective, for he was on an errand of mercy.The old man and Felix now descended the stairs into the cellar, and commenced their search for the strange boy who had so thoroughly alarmed them.CHAPTER XV.BOB AND HERBERT MEET.“Well, I can’t understand it,” said Felix, as he and the old fence came up from the cellar. “He certainly isn’t down there.”“No, he ain’t here, that’s sure,” replied Gunwagner; “but if it was the newsboy, you can be sure he will show up again in a way not very good for us.”“So I think,” assented Mortimer.“Then we must capture him, that’s all.”“I wish we could. You see he might go to old Goldwin again, and tell him he saw me here.”“Yes, or go to the police headquarters and raise a row,” suggested Gunwagner, gloomily.“I didn’t think of that. Well, as you say, the only thing for us to do is to capture him and get him where he won’t make trouble for us.”“The whole game will be lost, and we will be pulled by the police unless we do so.”“You might’s well count your game lost, then,” said Bob to himself, for he had now renewed hope of carrying through his scheme. But he was nearly paralyzed with pain, from the cramped and uncomfortable position in which he had remained so long. He felt, however, that he was doing a great detectiveact, so he bore up under his sufferings with heroic fortitude.“Suppose the police should drop on us, and find Randolph in the cellar?” suggested young Mortimer.The thought evidently alarmed old Gunwagner. His face and whole manner showed that it did.“If they should do that, we would go to Sing Sing,” returned he, grimly.Felix Mortimer possessed an extremely cool nerve, but the words “Sing Sing” did not fall upon his ears like sweet music.“I wish we could get him out of the way,” said he, with manifest anxiety. “It must be done tomorrow.”“There’s no time to lose, I feel sure. But what shall be done with him?”“He must be put where he will never blow on us.”“Of course he must.”“It’s a bad job—a dirty, bad job—that’s what I call it. I only wish you’d kept away from me with your devilish scheme,” said the old villain, petulantly.“It’s no time to talk about that now,” returned Mortimer, coolly. “You are in for it as well as I, so we must work together.”“We must, must we?” hissed the old man, wickedly.“Yes,” said Mortimer, with a determined manner, that made the old outlaw cower and cringe. Felix Mortimer possessed the stronger character of the two, and, now he was aroused, Gunwagner was subservient to his will.“Unless you show yourself a man now, I will leave you to fight it out alone,” continued Felix. “I can take care of myself. Randolph is on your hands, and here the police will find him.”Low, profane mutterings from the old culprit’s mouth now filled the air. He was cornered, and Mortimer had him at his mercy. Gunwagner saw this now, and commenced planning to get our young hero out of the way.An exceedingly interesting conversation this proved to the young detective, who carefully gathered in every word.“Something is liable to drop with you fellers before long,” said he to himself. “This detective business is mighty excitin’, if it’s all like this is. I wonder what Tom Flannery would say now, if he could take this all in the same way I’m doin’ it!”“I s’pose we can run him off to sea,” said Gunwagner, at length. “That’s the only way I know of to get him out of the way.”“Then why not do that?” replied Mortimer.“It will cost a lot of money.”“Better pay out the money than go to Sing Sing.”The old fence looked daggers at the author of this remark, but evidently thought it best to make no direct reply.“I wish we could get him away tonight,” continued young Mortimer, in a way that exasperated Gunwagner.“Well, you’re mighty liable to be accommodated,” thought Bob, as a broad grin played over his face, despite the suffering he was enduring. “I’m goin’ to take a hand in this business myself, and I’ll try my best to help you fellers through with this job.”“No, it can’t be done tonight,” said the old fence, gruffly; “but I’ll see what can be done tomorrow.”“Fix it so he will never get back here to New York again,” said Mortimer, heartlessly.“Of course; that’s the only thing to do.”“Remember, there is no time to lose, for if we get trippedup here, the whole game will be up at the bank, and all our trouble will come to nothing.”“I understand that; but you have said nothing about the outlook at the bank.”“I have had no chance. Some one has been here all the evening.”“You have the chance now.”“So I have; but there is nothing to say yet. You don’t expect me to rob a bank in one day, do you?”“No, of course not; but what are the chances for carrying out the scheme?”“Ah, ha!” said the young detective to himself; “bank robbing, is it? That’s the scheme. Well, this detective business beats me. I guess nobody don’t often get a more excitin’ case than this one is—that’s what I think.”After a little further discussion between the two crooks, Mortimer left the den and started for home. Bob suspected that he felt very happy to get away from there; and Bob was quite right, for, as a matter of fact, the young scoundrel had become so alarmed over the prospect, that he felt very uneasy about remaining a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. When he had gone, the old fence closed and bolted the doors, and then passed into a rear room, where he retired to his bed.When all had been quiet for perhaps the space of fifteen or twenty minutes, the young detective crawled out of his box and straightened himself out. He had, however, been cramped up so long that this was not so easily done. But matters of so great moment were before him now, that he could not think of aches and pains. He learned about the location of the trap door, when the old fence and young Mortimer went into the cellar to look for him.On his hands and knees Bob cautiously proceeded, searching on either side of him for the door. It was so dark that he could see nothing, and as the room was filled with chairs, old boxes, and so on, he found it no easy matter to navigate under such circumstances, especially as he knew that the slightest noise would prove fatal to his scheme.At length his hand rested upon the fastening of the trap door, and to his horror he found it locked. If the room had seemed dark before to the young detective, it was now most oppressively black. What to do, which way to turn, he did not know. The doors leading to the street were locked, he had no keys about him, and no means of producing a light.“This is the worst go I’ve struck yet,” said Bob to himself, as he meditated over his situation. “Jest as I thought everything was all fixed, this blamed old lock knocks me out. Well, I’ve pulled through pretty good so far, and I won’t give it up yet. I may strike an idea,” he continued, undismayed, and then commenced prowling stealthily about the room, in search of something—anything that would serve his purpose.He thought if he could find the key to the hall door he would try to make his escape from the building; and, once out, he could get matches, and whatever else he needed to aid him in carrying out his scheme to a grand success. But he was no more fortunate in this effort than he had been in hunting for the key to the trap door.He searched, too, every nook and corner for a match, but failed utterly to find one, or anything to keep his courage good. The situation began to look alarming to him. He was now as much a prisoner as Herbert Randolph.“I wonder what Tom Flannery would do if he was in my place?” mused the young detective, as he sat upon the floor,somewhat depressed in spirits. “I think he’d just lay down and bawl and throw up the whole game, that’s what Tom Flannery would do. But I ain’t goin’ to throw up no game till it’s lost, not ef Bob Hunter knows himself. There ain’t but one thing to do now, and that’s to go into old Gunwagner’s bedroom, and take them keys outer his pocket, that’s what I think. Ef he was to wake up, tho’, and catch me at it—well, I guess I wouldn’t be in the detective business no more. But—what’s that noise?” said he to himself, suddenly becoming aware of a strange sound.Our young detective felt a cold chill creep over him. His first thought was that the old fence was coming into his presence, and would of course capture him and punish him most inhumanly. But as the slight noise continued, and Gunwagner did not appear, Bob took courage, and listened keenly for developments. Presently the sound came nearer, and now a gleam of light shone up through a crack in the floor.“Can it be Vermont?” said Bob to himself, hardly believing his own eyes.Still nearer came the light.“He is climbing the stairs, as sure’s I’m alive,” said Bob, almost overcome with joy.In the trap door was a small knot hole, about an inch and a half in diameter. Through this opening the light now shone distinctly, and it was most welcome to the eyes of our young detective. A pressure was now brought to bear upon the door from the under side, but it only yielded so far as the fastening would allow.“Is that you, Vermont?” whispered Bob through the knot hole.No answer was given.Herbert Randolph had never considered himself in any degree superstitious. But what could this be but Bob Hunter’s spirit?“Don’t be afraid,” said the young detective, who imagined Herbert would find it difficult to realize that he was there. “It’s Bob Hunter. I ain’t got no card with me, or I’d send it down to you.”This remark sounded so much like Bob that young Randolph no longer doubted his own senses.“Bob Hunter!” exclaimed he. “How in the world came you here, and what are you doing?”“Yes, it’s me, Vermont. But don’t stop to ask no questions now. I’m here to help you get out, but this blamed old door is locked, and I hain’t got no key, nor no light, nor nothin’.”After exchanging a few words, Herbert took from his pocket a piece of paper. This he made into a taper, which he lighted and passed up through the knot hole to Bob. With this the latter lighted the gas; and now he felt that he was in a position to be of some service to his friend.A careful search failed to reveal any keys. Then the two boys discussed the situation, and presently Herbert passed a bent nail to the young detective, and instructed him how to operate on the lock, which speedily yielded to the boy’s efforts. In another instant the trap door was thrown up, and, by a most unfortunate blunder, it fell back with a tremendous crash.Herbert, however, emerged quickly from his cold, damp prison, with a look of consternation pictured upon his face. Both he and Bob knew that old Gunwagner would be upon them in less than a minute, and they hastily prepared to defend themselves.CHAPTER XVI.THE OLD FENCE IN A TRAP.“What shall we do?” said Bob, with no little alarm, as Herbert Randolph climbed up through the old trap door.“We must defend ourselves,” replied the young Vermonter, with characteristic firmness.“There ain’t no way to escape, is there?”“No, I suppose not, if the hall door is locked.”“It is, and I can’t find no key.”“Have you looked since the gas was lighted?”“Yes, and ’tain’t there nowhere.”“Where do you imagine it is?”“I guess the old duffer has it in his pocket, the same as he has the key to the trap door.”“Well, there is no time to lose. Old Gunwagner will be down upon us in an instant.”“Do you think he will bring a revolver with him?” asked Bob, somewhat nervously.“Very likely he will.”“I guess we’d better climb down cellar, then, and pretty lively, too.”“No, we won’t,” replied Herbert, decidedly. “I have had all of that prison I want. We will fight it out here.”“All right, then, I’ll shut this door down, or we might get thrown down cellar in the fight.”“So we might, and—— Ah, here he comes!” said young Randolph, detecting the sound of footsteps, as old Gunwagner approached.
a surprise for felix mortimer.
“The museum is on the next street,” remarked young Smartweed, as he rang the bell three times. “We have to walk through this court, to reach it by the back passage.”
Still Herbert’s suspicions slumbered.
And now the catch to the door was pulled back, and our unfortunate hero and his companion passed in. The hallway was ominously dark. They groped their way forward till a second door was reached, and here the leader knocked three times, then paused for a moment and knocked once more.After a brief interval three more knocks precisely like the first were given, and then the door opened.
The two stepped quickly into the room, and Herbert’s arms were instantly seized by some one from behind the door, and drawn backward by an effort to fasten the wrists together behind him. Quicker than thought, young Randolph wrested his arms from the grip that was upon them, and, turning like a flash, planted a solid blow upon the jaw of his assailant—a blow which sent him, with a terrified yell, sprawling to the floor.
Then it was that he recognized, in the prostrate figure, Felix Mortimer, and a sickening sense of the awful truth dawned upon him. He was trapped!
The genial friend whom he had met on the Bowery now showed his real character, and before Herbert could further defend himself, he was pounced upon by him and a villainous looking man with a scraggy red beard and most repulsive features. They threw a thick black cloth over his head, and, after binding his hands firmly together, thrust him into a dark vault, or pen, in the cellar.
Our hero realized now most fully his helpless and defenseless position—a position that placed him entirely at the mercy of his enemies; if mercy in any degree dwelt in the breasts of the cruel band of outlaws in whose den he was now a prisoner.
IMPRISONED AT THE FENCE.
“This is a fine beginning to a city career—short but brilliant,” said young Randolph to himself, bitterly, as he mused upon his deplorable situation.
“Fool that I was! It’s all plain enough to me now,” he continued, after a half hour’s deep thought, in which he traced back, step by step, his experiences since landing in the big city. “I ought to have recognized him at once—the villain! He is the very fellow I saw across the street with his pal, as I left the bank. I thought he looked familiar, but I’ve seen so many people in this great town that I’m not surprised at my miss. Mighty bad miss, though; one that has placed me in a box trap, and under ground at that.”
Herbert was right in his conclusions. The fellow who had so cleverly played the confidence game upon him was the same one who awaited his appearance in Wall Street, and afterwards shadowed him up Broadway.
“This must all be the work of that young villain Mortimer,” continued Herbert, still reasoning on the subject. “I ought to have been sharper; Bob told me to look out for him. If I had had any sense, I could have seen that he meant to be revenged upon me. I knew it, and yet I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that I was at all uneasy. He must have beenthe same one that pointed me out to this confidence fellow on Wall Street. He was probably made up with false side whiskers and mustache, so that I wouldn’t recognize him.
“Well,” said he, starting up suddenly from his reverie, “how is all this reasoning about how I came to get into this trap going to help me to get out of it? That is what I want to know;” and he commenced exploring his dark, damp cell, in search of some clew that would aid him in solving the problem.
He was not alarmed about his personal safety. Up to this time, happily, no such thought had entered his mind. He sanguinely looked upon his imprisonment as merely temporary.
In this opinion, however, he erred greatly. The same rural credulity that made him the victim of Peter Smartweed, now led him to suppose that the unscrupulous rascals who held him a prisoner would soon release him. He looked upon the matter as simply one of revenge on the part of Mortimer. He little realized his true situation, and did not even dream of the actual significance of his imprisonment. He therefore felt a sense of genuine consolation when he thought of the well deserved blow he had delivered upon his enemy’s jaw; and several times, as he prowled around the cell, he laughed heartily, thinking of Mortimer’s ridiculous appearance as he lay stretched upon the floor.
Herbert Randolph was full of human nature, and human nature of the best sort—warm blooded, natural, sensible. There was nothing pale and attenuated about him. He was full of spirits, was manly, kind and generous, and yet he could appreciate heartily a point honorably gained on the enemy. Thus instead of giving himself up to despair and grief, he tried to derive all the comfort possible out of his situation.
is cell was dark as night. He could not see his own hands, and the dampness and musty odor, often noticeable in old cellars, added much to his discomfort. He found that the cell was made of strong three inch slats, securely bolted to thick timbers. These strips, or slats, were about three inches apart. The door was made in the same manner, and was fastened with a padlock. Altogether his cell was more like a cage than anything else; however, it seemed designed to hold him securely against all efforts to escape from his captors.
The door, as previously stated, was fastened by a padlock. Herbert learned this by putting his hands through the slats, and carefully going over every part of the fastening arrangement.
This discovery gave him slight hopes. The lock he judged to be one of the ordinary cheap ones such as his father always used on his cornhouse and barn doors. Now he had on several occasions opened these locks by means of a stiff wire, properly bent. Therefore, should this lock prove to be one of the same kind, and should fortune place within his reach a suitable piece of wire, or even a nail of the right sort, he felt that he could make good his escape from this cell.
“But should I succeed in this,” he very prudently reasoned, “would I be any better off? That heavy trap door is undoubtedly fastened down, and, so far as I know, that is the only means of exit; but—— What is that?” he suddenly said to himself, as he felt the cold shivers creep over him.
The sound continues. It seems like rasping or grating. Louder and more distinct it grows, as Herbert’s imagination becomes more active.
Every sound to one in his situation, in that dark, lonesomecellar, could easily be interpreted to mean many forms of danger to him. But at length he reasons, from the irregular rasping, and from other slight evidences, that this noise is the gnawing of hungry rats.
What a frightful and alarming discovery this is to him! It strikes terror to his brave young heart, and makes cold beads of perspiration stand out upon his brow. And as these silent drops—the evidence of suffering—trickle down his face one by one, chilly and dispiriting, he grows sick to the very core.
Alone in a dark, damp cellar, with no means of defense—not even a stick, a knife, or any sort of implement to protect himself from the hordes of rats that now surround him.
This indeed is a night of terror to our young hero. He does not dare to throw himself upon the bench, lest he should sleep, and, sleeping, be attacked by these dreadful rats.
Accordingly, he commenced walking back and forth in his cell, as a caged tiger walks hour after hour from one end to the other of his narrow confines.
“This will keep me awake,” said he to himself, with an attempt to rouse his spirits; “and it will also keep the rats away.”
After he had paced thus for a time, he heard steps above him, and instantly he called out for aid. He called again and again, but the inhuman ear of old Gunwagner was deaf to his imploring cries.
The sound of footsteps was soon lost, and all was still save the gnawing of the rats. Herbert listened quietly for a time, to study their movements. Soon he heard them scampering about in all parts of the cellar. From the noise they made he judged them to be very large; and they were certainly bold,for now they were running about in contemptuous disregard of young Randolph’s presence. Occasionally he would yell at them, and kick vigorously upon the framework of his cell. By this means he kept them at a somewhat respectful distance.
And now his mind reverted again to the cause of his imprisonment. As the long, weary hours dragged by, he studied the matter with the utmost care, giving painstaking thought to the slightest details and the most trivial acts. His points were, consequently, well made. They were reasonable, logical, probable. The scheme broadened as he progressed. What he had supposed to be a mere matter of revenge now loomed up clearly and distinctly before him as a bold plot against himself—a piece of outrageous villainy that fairly appalled him.
He saw Felix Mortimer in his place in the bank; saw himself looked upon by Mr. Goldwin with suspicion and disgust. And this feeling, he knew, would extend to his daughter—bright, winsome Ray.
It was odd that Herbert should think of her in this connection, while in such mental agony. He had seen her but once, and then only for a minute. True, she was wonderfully pretty, and her manner was irresistibly attractive, but young Randolph was of a serious turn of mind. No, he was not one to become infatuated with any girl, however charming; he never had been, and, to use his own language, he did not propose to become so. But he could not help thinking of Ray in connection with this matter. He recalled how her sunny presence lighted up the bank that very afternoon, and in imagination he saw her bright, mischievous blue eyes, brimful of fun and merriment, as he handed her into her carriage.
“She did look sweet, confounded if she didn’t,” said Herbert to himself, forgetting for the time his sorrow; “sweet andpretty as a peach, and her cheeks had the same rich, delicate tint. Her hair—— Great Scott!” ejaculated young Randolph, suddenly awaking to what he had been saying. “Another evidence of my being a fool. I’d better have stayed on the farm,” he continued, more or less severely.
young randolph at last falls asleep exhausted.
“Well, I’m a prisoner,” he said, sadly, after a thoughtful pause. “It doesn’t matter much what I think or say. But, somehow or other, I wish I had never seen her,” he continued, meditatively. “Now she will think of me only with contempt, just as her father will. Of course she will; it would be only natural.”
Exhausted, weary, and even overburdened with oppressive thought, he sat down on the wooden bench in his cell. The rats still gnawed and frolicked, and prowled at will. Herbert listened to them for a moment; then he thought of his dear mother and father, of his home, his own comfortable bed.
A stray tear now stole down his cheeks, and then another. The poor boy was overcome, and he gave way to a sudden outburst of grief. Then he rested his head in his hand, and tried to think again. But his mind was wearied to exhaustion.
“My mother, my mother and father! Oh, how I wish I could see them! What would they do if they only knew where I am?”
He paused after this utterance; and now his thoughts suddenly ceased their weary wanderings. All was quiet, and the long measured breathing gave evidence that our young hero slept.
BOB’S BRILLIANT MOVE.
“But I say, Bob, I don’t jest see how we are goin’ to get into that den,” said Tom Flannery, thoughtfully, as he and his companion hurried along towards old Gunwagner’s.
“Don’t you?” replied Bob, carelessly, as if the matter was of trivial importance.
“No, I don’t. Do you, Bob?”
“Do you think, Tom Flannery, that a detective is goin’ to tell all he knows—is goin’ to give away the game before it’s played?” said Bob, with feigned displeasure.
He asked this question to evade the one put to him.
“I thought they always told them as was in the secret, don’t they?”
“Well, I must say you have some of the ignorantest ideas of any boy I ever see,” said Bob, with assumed surprise.
Young Flannery looked sad, and made no reply.
“The trouble with you, Tom, is that you worry too much,” continued the juvenile detective.
“I ain’t worryin’, Bob. What made you think that? I only wanted to know what’s the racket, an’ what I’ve got to do.”
“Well, you s’pose I bro’t you up here to do somethin’, don’t you?”
“Of course you did, Bob. But what is it? That’s what I want to know.”
“You ask more questions than any feller I ever see, Tom Flannery. Now you jest tell me what any detective would do, on a case like this one is, and tell me what he’d want you to do, an’ then I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”
Tom looked grave, and tried hard to think.
The fact of the matter is that Bob himself hardly knew what step to take next, in order to carry out the plan he had formed. But his reputation was at stake. He thought he must make a good showing before Tom, though the matter of gaining an entrance to Gunwagner’s was far from clear to him. He therefore wanted Tom’s opinion, but it would not do to ask him for it, so he adopted this rather sharp device.
“Blamed if I can tell, Bob, what a detective would do,” replied Tom. “You see I ain’t no natural detective like you. But I should think he’d swoop down on the den and scoop it.”
“And that’s what you think a reg’lar detective would do?”
“Yes. I don’t see nothin’ else for him to do.”
“Well, how would he do it?”
“I ain’t no detective, Bob, so I don’t know.”
“I didn’t s’pose you did know, Tom Flannery, so now I’ll tell you,” said Bob, who had seized upon his companion’s suggestion. “A regular detective, if he was in my place, and had you to help him, would do jest what I’m going to do, and that is to send you into the den first, to see what you can find out.”
“Send me in?” exclaimed Tom, incredulously.
“Yes, that’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
“And that’s what a reg’lar detective would do?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s what you’re goin’ to do?”
“Yes, of course it is. Why wouldn’t I do the same as any other detective? That’s what I want to know.”
“Of course you would, Bob, but I couldn’t do nothin’ if I should go in,” said Tom, gently protesting against the proposed plan of action.
“You can do what I tell you to, can’t you?”
“I don’t know nothin’ about it, any way, I tell you,” replied Tom, showing more plainly his disinclination to obedience.
“Tom Flannery, I wouldn’t er believed that you would back out this way,” said Bob, with surprise.
“Well, I don’t want to be a detective no way. I don’t care nothin’ about my name bein’ in the paper.”
“You hain’t got no ambition. If you had, you’d show some spunk now. ’Tain’t often a feller has a chance to get into a case like this one is.”
“Well, I don’t care if it ain’t, that’s what I say.”
“I thought you wanted to be a detective, and couldn’t wait, hardly, for me to work up the case.”
“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to climb into places like this old Gunwagner’s. ’Tain’t what I call bein’ a detective no way.”
“You make me tired, Tom Flannery. You get the foolishest notions into your head of any boy I ever see.”
“Well, I don’t care if I do. I know plenty detectives don’t do nothin’ like this. They jest dress up and play the gentleman, that’s what they do.”
“And that’s the kind of a detective you want to be, is it?”
“Yes, it is; there ain’t no danger about that kind of bein’ a detective.”
“Tom, you’d look great tryin’ to be a gentleman, wouldn’t you? I’d like to see you, Tom Flannery, a gentleman!” said Bob, derisively. “It makes me sick, such talk.”
Tom was silent for a time. Evidently he thought there was some ground for Bob’s remarks.
But an idea occurred to him now.
“Bob,” said he, “if you like bein’ this kind of a detective, why don’t you go in yourself, instead of sendin’ me? Now, answer me that, will you?”
“It wouldn’t be reg’lar professional like, and then there wouldn’t be no style about it.”
Tom made no reply. In fact there seemed nothing further for him to say; Bob’s answer left no chance for argument.
The two boys now stood opposite Gunwagner’s. Presently a boy with a package in his hand approached the house, and, looking nervously about him, as if he feared he was watched, walked up the stoop and rang the bell three times. He did not see the two young detectives, as they were partially hidden by a big telegraph pole.
After a time the door opened, and he passed in. Bob noticed that it was very dark inside, and wondered why no light shone.
“I couldn’t get in, nohow, if I wanted to,” said Tom, trying to justify himself for his seeming cowardice.
“Does look so,” assented Bob, absentmindedly.
“I wouldn’t like to be a prisoner in there; would you, Bob?”
“No, of course I wouldn’t.”
“I wish we could get your chum out.”
“I wish so, too; but you don’t s’pose we can do it by standing here, do you?”
“No, but I don’t know nothin’ to do; do you, Bob?”
“If I told you what to do, you wouldn’t do it.”
“Well, I didn’t see no sense in my goin’ in there alone, nohow.”
“I did, if you didn’t. I wanted you to look round and see what you could find out, and post me, so when I went in I could do the grand act.”
“I wouldn’t a’ got out to post you, Bob. They’d a’ kept me—that’s what they’d done.”
The door now opened, and out came the same boy who but a few minutes before had entered the Gunwagner den. He looked cautiously about him, and then started down the street toward the East River. He was a small boy, of about twelve years of age, while our two detectives were several years his senior. From remarks dropped by Felix Mortimer and Peter Smartweed, Bob surmised that Gunwagner might keep a fence, and the suspicious manner of this small boy confirmed his belief.
“Here’s our chance,” whispered Bob, nervously. “You follow this boy up, and don’t let him get away from you. I’ll rush ahead and cut him off. Keep close to him, so we can corner him when I whistle three times.”
“All right,” said Tom, with his old show of enthusiasm, and each commenced the pursuit.
Between Allen and Orchard Streets the detectives closed in on the small boy. Bob had put himself fairly in front of him, and Tom followed close behind. The chief detective slackened his pace very perceptibly, and seemed to be trying to make out the number on the house before which he now halted.
“Can you tell me where old Gunwagner lives?” said he, addressing the small boy, who was now about to pass by.
The boy stopped suddenly, and the color as suddenly left his face.
Bob had purposely chosen this locality, close to a gaslight, so that he might note the effect of his question upon the boy. Now he gave the signal as agreed upon, and Tom instantly came up and took a position that made retreat for the lad impossible. The latter saw this, and burst into tears. Conscious of his own guilt, he needed no further accuser to condemn him.
“Don’t take it so hard,” said Bob; “you do the square thing, and we won’t blow on you—will we, Tom?”
“No, we won’t,” replied the latter.
“We saw you when you went into Gunwagner’s—saw the package in your hand, and know the whole game,” continued Bob. “Now, if you will help us put up a job, why, we will let you off; but if you don’t come down square and do the right thing, why, we will jest run you in, and you’ll get a couple of years or more on the Island. Now what do you say?”
“What do you want me to do?” sobbed the small boy, trembling with fear.
“I want you to go back with us, and take me into Gunwagner’s.”
Tom was an interested listener, for he knew nothing about Bob’s plans or purposes.
From further questionings, and many threats, our detectives found that a number of boys were in the habit of taking stolen goods to this miserable old fence. The number mixed up in the affair Bob did not learn, but he ascertained the fact that Felix Mortimer had often been seen there by this lad.
“Now me and Tom are doin’ the detective business,” said the chief; “and if you want to be a detective with us, you can join right in.”
“I want to go home,” sobbed the boy.
“Well, you can’t, not now,” said Bob, emphatically. “We hain’t got no time for nonsense. You’ve either got to go along with me and Tom, and help us, or we will run you in. Now which will you do?”
The boy yielded to the eloquence of the chief detective, and accompanied him and Tom back to old Gunwagner’s. The boldness of this move captured young Flannery’s admiration.
“Now this is what I call bein’ detectives, Bob,” whispered he. “Gewhittaker, I didn’t think, though, you could do it so grand. I don’t believe nobody could beat you.”
Bob nodded his approval of the compliment, and then addressed himself to the young lad.
“I want you,” said he, “to take me in and say I’m a friend of yours who wants to sell somethin’. You needn’t do nothin’ more. Every detective puts up jobs like this, so ’tain’t tellin’ nothin’ wrong.”
Then, turning to his companion, he added:
“Now, Tom, if this boy ain’t square, and he does anything so I get into Gunwagner’s clutches, and can’t get out, why I want you to go for an officer, and come and arrest this boy and the whole gang.”
The lad trembled. “I won’t do nothin’,” he protested. “I’ll do just what you want me to.”
“All right; you do so, and you’ll save yourself a visit to the Island. Now, when I am talking with old Gunwagner, if I tell you to come outside and get the package I left at the door, why, you come jest as if I did have it there, and you come right straight for Tom, and he will tell you what to do. And mind you be sure and don’t close the outside door, for I want you toleave it so you and Tom can get in without ringing the bell, for that’s the secret of the whole job.”
The boy readily assented to Bob’s conditions and commands, and then the chief gave his companion secret instructions, to be acted upon after he himself had gone into the very den of the old fence.
A TERRIBLE FEAR.
It was towards morning when Herbert Randolph fell asleep on the night of his imprisonment. He had fought manfully to keep awake, dreading the consequences of slumber, but tired nature gave way at last, and our young hero slept, unconscious now of danger.
The rats that he so much feared still frolicked, and prowled, and gnawed, as they had done for hours. They climbed upon boxes and barrels, and made their way into every corner and crevice. Everything was inspected by them.
More inquisitive rats than these never infested the metropolis. Now they went in droves, and scampered from place to place like a flock of frightened sheep. Then they strayed apart and prowled for a time alone. An occasional fight came off by way of variety, and in these battles the vanquished, and perhaps their supporters, often squealed like so many young pigs.
Thus the carousal continued hour after hour, and that old Gunwagner cellar was for the time a diminutive bedlam. Our young hero, nevertheless, slept on and on, unconscious of this racket.
After a while the rats grew bolder. Their curiosity became greater, and then they began to investigate more carefully thestate of things within the prison cell, and at length their attention was turned to the quiet sleeper.
Well bred rats are always cautious, and therefore are somewhat respectful, but the drove at old Gunwagner’s did not show this desirable trait. In fact they were not unlike the old fence himself—daring, avaricious and discourteous. No better proof of this could be instanced than their disreputable treatment of our young hero.
Rats, as a rule, show a special fondness for leather. Undoubtedly it is palatable to them. But this fact would not justify them in the attempt they made to appropriate to themselves Herbert’s boots. The propriety of such an act was most questionable, and no well mannered rats would have allowed themselves to become a party to such a raid. But as a matter of fact, and as Herbert learned to his sorrow, there were no well mannered rats at old Gunwagner’s—none but a thieving, quarrelsome lot.
After a council of war had been held, and a great amount of reconnoitering had been done, it was decided that these rural boots could not be removed from their rightful owner in their present shape; therefore they fell vigorously to work to reduce them to a more movable condition.
When Herbert fell asleep, he was sitting on a bench with his feet upon the floor. He was still in this position, with his head resting in his hand, and his elbow supported by the side of his prison cell, when the rats made war on his boots. They gnawed and chipped away at them at a lively rate, and in a little time the uppers were entirely destroyed. The cotton linings, to be sure, were still intact, as these they did not trouble. Evidently cotton cloth was not a tempting diet for them.
Up to this time Herbert had not moved a muscle since hefell asleep, but now a troubled dream or something else, I know not what, disturbed him. Possibly it was the continued gnawing on his already shattered boots. It might, however, have been the fear of these dreadful rats, or the repulsive image of old Gunwagner, that haunted him and broke the soundness of his slumbers.
Presently he opened his eyes, drowsily, and his first half waking impression was the peculiar sensation at his feet. In another instant a full realization of the cause of this feeling darted into his mind, and with a pitiful cry of terror he bounded into the air like a frightened deer. And to add to the horror of his situation, in descending his right foot came down squarely upon one of the rats, which emitted a strange cry, a sort of squeal, that sent a thrill throughout every nerve of our hero’s body.
A second leap brought him standing upon the bench upon which he had been sitting.
If ever a boy had good reason to be frightened, it was Herbert Randolph. His situation was one to drive men mad—in that dark, damp cellar, thus surrounded and beset by this countless horde of rats. The cold perspiration stood out upon him, and he trembled with an uncontrollable fear.
Something was wrong with his feet. He knew that, for his shoes now barely hung upon them. To what extent the rats had gone he dreaded to know. Already he could feel his feet smart and burn in a peculiar manner. Had they received poisonous bites, he asked himself? The mere suggestion of such a condition to one in his frightened state of mind was quite as bad, for the time, as actual wounds would have been.
A rat isn’t very good company at any time. Under the most favorable conditions his presence has a tendency to sendpeople upon chairs or the nearest table, and not infrequently they do this little act with a whoop that would do credit to a genuine frontier Indian. When, therefore, we consider this fact, it is not difficult to realize the alarming situation in which our young hero was, and but for the timely sound of footsteps overhead it is impossible to predict what might have been the result of this terrible mental strain on him.
suddenly realizing his horrible situation, herbert sprang upon the bench with a pitiful cry of terror.
The night had worn away, the old fence was again on the move, and Herbert’s piercing cry brought him to the room over the cell. No sooner had our young friend heard this sound above his head than he appealed forhelp. So alarming were his cries that even old Gunwagner was at length moved to go to his assistance. He retraced his steps to the front of the house, and, taking a lighted lamp with him, passed down through the trap door, and then made his way into the rear cellar to Herbert’s cell.
Never before in his life had the presence of a human being been so welcome as was that of Gunwagner to our frightened hero. What a relief to this oppressive darkness was that small lamp light, and how quickly it drove all the rats into their hiding places.
“What’s all this row about?” growled the old fence.
“These rats,” gasped Herbert, with a strange, wild look; “see, they have bitten me,” pointing to his boots, or what remained of them.
Gunwagner’s heart softened a trifle as he beheld the boy’s sufferings, and saw how he had been assailed.
“Are you sure they have bit you?” said he, uneasily.
“Look! see!” replied Herbert, holding out the worst mutilated boot. He fully believed he had been bitten, though, as a matter of fact, he had not.
The old fence became alarmed, fearing the annoyance and possible danger that might follow; but when he had satisfied himself by a careful examination that young Randolph had sustained no injuries, he speedily changed back to his old hard manner again—a cold, cruel manner that showed no mercy.
Herbert begged to be released from his prison pen, but his pleadings were of no avail.
“Why are you treating me in this inhuman way?” asked he. “What have I done that I should be shut up here by you?”
Old Gunwagner looked hard at him, but made no reply.
“I know why it is,” continued our hero, growing bold and defiant when he saw it was useless to plead for kindness; “I can see through the whole scheme now; but you mark my words, old man, you will suffer for this cruelty, and so will your friend Felix Mortimer.”
These words came from the lips of the young prisoner with such terrible emphasis that old Gunwagner, hardened as he was in sin, grew pale, and trembled visibly for his own safety.
BOB OUTWITS THE OLD FENCE.
Bob easily gained admittance to the den by the aid of his confederate. He found there old Gunwagner, Felix Mortimer, and another boy, who passed out just after the young detective entered. The old fence eyed Bob sharply, and perhaps somewhat suspiciously. The manner of the small boy was excited. He did not appear natural, and this alone was sufficient to attract the old man’s attention.
It was a critical moment for Bob. He did not know that the boy would not turn against him. In fact, he half suspected he would, but nevertheless he was willing to take the chance in the interest of Herbert, and that he might do a skillful piece of detective work. Moreover, there was the danger of being recognized by Felix Mortimer, who had seen him twice that very day; once at the bank in the morning, and again in the afternoon when Bob played the role of bootblack.
Old Gunwagner questioned him sharply. The small boy, however, told the story precisely in accordance with Bob’s instructions. The young detective meanwhile hastily surveyed the room and its furnishings, and when he had discovered what he thought would serve his purpose, he turned to his confederate, and said:
“Well, I believe I’ll let this man have the things I broughtwith me. You may go out and get them, and bring them in here.”
“Why didn’t you bring them in with you?” asked the fence, suavely.
“I didn’t know as we could trade, so I thought I’d better leave ’em outside,” answered Bob, carelessly.
When Tom saw the boy come out alone, he knew the part he was to act, and following out the directions of his chief, he and the confederate rushed into the dark passageway leading to the fence, and yelled “Fire” with all the power they could command. Before giving the alarm, however, they lighted a newspaper, and placed it near the outer door.
Bob had purposely made his way to a far corner of the room, so that, as a matter of fact, he was farther from the place of exit than either Mortimer or Gunwagner. This was part of his scheme.
When the cry of fire reached the old fence, he bounded to the door like a frightened deer. Throwing it open, his eyes instantly fell upon the great flames that shot up from the burning paper. The sight struck terror to him, and, with an agonized cry, he rushed down the hallway to the immediate scene of the conflagration, with Felix Mortimer not far behind him.
A gust of wind now blew in through the partially open door, and scattered the charred remains of the newspaper all about the feet of the fence. In a few seconds all traces of the fire were lost, and then the trick dawned upon the old man. He was furious with rage, and ran out into the street, to try and discover the perpetrators of the deed.
Tom and the confederate remained on the opposite side of the street till Gunwagner and Mortimer appeared at the door. Bob had instructed Tom to do this.
Both Gunwagner and Felix tumbled into this trap, which, by the way, was a skillful one for our detective to set. As soon as they caught sight of the two boys, they started after them in hot pursuit, but Tom and the young lad were excellent runners, and, having a good start of their pursuers, they kept well ahead of them.
Seeing, therefore, that the chase was a hopeless one, the old fence and Mortimer returned to the den. The former was almost desperately ugly. He growled and raved in a frightful manner, that quite alarmed our young detective.
“What has become of that new boy?” asked Felix, who was the first to think about him.
Gunwagner was so thoroughly agitated that up to this time he had not thought about Bob. At young Mortimer’s reminder, however, he stopped suddenly in his ravings, and the color as quickly left his face. Then he hurried to where a box containing silver and other valuables were kept.
“It’s here,” he gasped, almost paralyzed with the fear that it had been stolen by the strange boy.
“Is anything else missing?” asked Felix.
Our young detective was at this minute doubled up in a large box that was stowed away under a sort of makeshift counter. He had hurriedly concealed himself in this manner during the absence of the fence and Felix.
“I’ll look things over and see,” said old Gunwagner, replying to Mortimer’s question.
Bob thought the game was all up with him now. He felt much as Tom Flannery did. He, too, “didn’t want to be a detective, no how.”
“There’s no show for me if this old tyrant gets his hands on to me,” said Bob to himself, as he lay cramped up in thatdirty box, hardly daring to breathe. “I didn’t think about it comin’ out this way; if I had, I would a’ fixed things with Tom different. Now I suppose he’s gone home, as I told him to, and I can’t look for no help from him or nobody else.”
gunwagner pursuing the boys.
The situation was a depressing one, and it grew more so as the mousing old fence came nearer and nearer to where our young detective lay. He searched high and low for traces of theft, and examined everything with careful scrutiny.
He was now close to Bob’s hiding place.
“He must be hid away here somewhere,” said Felix, with a very anxious look upon his face.
“What makes you think so?” asked the old man, as he noticed young Mortimer’s anxiety.
No boy ever tried harder to suppress his breath than Bob Hunter did at this instant. “It’sall up with me now,” said he to himself. “They’ll get me sure; but I’ll die game.”
“It looks suspicious to me, and that’s why I think so,” replied Felix, showing no little alarm.
“I don’t see nothing suspicious about it, as long as nothing is missing.”
“To be sure, but I believe he is the same boy that was in the bank today looking for this Randolph.”
“And he is the boy that the old banker told you about?”
“Yes; the newsboy who said some foul play had overtaken Randolph.”
The old fence looked exceedingly troubled.
“We must capture this young Arab,” said he, emphatically, after a few moments’ careful thought.
Bob’s ears missed nothing. This conversation interested him through and through.
“Arab!” said he to himself. “If I don’t get caught I’ll show you whether I’m an Arab or not.”
“Perhaps he is already in there,” suggested Mortimer again.
“We will go down cellar and see,” said the old man. “He might have gone down through that trap door while we was out.”
“That’s what I thought; and he and Randolph may already be hatching up some plan for escaping,” said Felix.
Why old Gunwagner neglected to search the big box under the counter is inexplicable. Possibly the hand of destiny shielded the young detective, for he was on an errand of mercy.
The old man and Felix now descended the stairs into the cellar, and commenced their search for the strange boy who had so thoroughly alarmed them.
BOB AND HERBERT MEET.
“Well, I can’t understand it,” said Felix, as he and the old fence came up from the cellar. “He certainly isn’t down there.”
“No, he ain’t here, that’s sure,” replied Gunwagner; “but if it was the newsboy, you can be sure he will show up again in a way not very good for us.”
“So I think,” assented Mortimer.
“Then we must capture him, that’s all.”
“I wish we could. You see he might go to old Goldwin again, and tell him he saw me here.”
“Yes, or go to the police headquarters and raise a row,” suggested Gunwagner, gloomily.
“I didn’t think of that. Well, as you say, the only thing for us to do is to capture him and get him where he won’t make trouble for us.”
“The whole game will be lost, and we will be pulled by the police unless we do so.”
“You might’s well count your game lost, then,” said Bob to himself, for he had now renewed hope of carrying through his scheme. But he was nearly paralyzed with pain, from the cramped and uncomfortable position in which he had remained so long. He felt, however, that he was doing a great detectiveact, so he bore up under his sufferings with heroic fortitude.
“Suppose the police should drop on us, and find Randolph in the cellar?” suggested young Mortimer.
The thought evidently alarmed old Gunwagner. His face and whole manner showed that it did.
“If they should do that, we would go to Sing Sing,” returned he, grimly.
Felix Mortimer possessed an extremely cool nerve, but the words “Sing Sing” did not fall upon his ears like sweet music.
“I wish we could get him out of the way,” said he, with manifest anxiety. “It must be done tomorrow.”
“There’s no time to lose, I feel sure. But what shall be done with him?”
“He must be put where he will never blow on us.”
“Of course he must.”
“It’s a bad job—a dirty, bad job—that’s what I call it. I only wish you’d kept away from me with your devilish scheme,” said the old villain, petulantly.
“It’s no time to talk about that now,” returned Mortimer, coolly. “You are in for it as well as I, so we must work together.”
“We must, must we?” hissed the old man, wickedly.
“Yes,” said Mortimer, with a determined manner, that made the old outlaw cower and cringe. Felix Mortimer possessed the stronger character of the two, and, now he was aroused, Gunwagner was subservient to his will.
“Unless you show yourself a man now, I will leave you to fight it out alone,” continued Felix. “I can take care of myself. Randolph is on your hands, and here the police will find him.”
Low, profane mutterings from the old culprit’s mouth now filled the air. He was cornered, and Mortimer had him at his mercy. Gunwagner saw this now, and commenced planning to get our young hero out of the way.
An exceedingly interesting conversation this proved to the young detective, who carefully gathered in every word.
“Something is liable to drop with you fellers before long,” said he to himself. “This detective business is mighty excitin’, if it’s all like this is. I wonder what Tom Flannery would say now, if he could take this all in the same way I’m doin’ it!”
“I s’pose we can run him off to sea,” said Gunwagner, at length. “That’s the only way I know of to get him out of the way.”
“Then why not do that?” replied Mortimer.
“It will cost a lot of money.”
“Better pay out the money than go to Sing Sing.”
The old fence looked daggers at the author of this remark, but evidently thought it best to make no direct reply.
“I wish we could get him away tonight,” continued young Mortimer, in a way that exasperated Gunwagner.
“Well, you’re mighty liable to be accommodated,” thought Bob, as a broad grin played over his face, despite the suffering he was enduring. “I’m goin’ to take a hand in this business myself, and I’ll try my best to help you fellers through with this job.”
“No, it can’t be done tonight,” said the old fence, gruffly; “but I’ll see what can be done tomorrow.”
“Fix it so he will never get back here to New York again,” said Mortimer, heartlessly.
“Of course; that’s the only thing to do.”
“Remember, there is no time to lose, for if we get trippedup here, the whole game will be up at the bank, and all our trouble will come to nothing.”
“I understand that; but you have said nothing about the outlook at the bank.”
“I have had no chance. Some one has been here all the evening.”
“You have the chance now.”
“So I have; but there is nothing to say yet. You don’t expect me to rob a bank in one day, do you?”
“No, of course not; but what are the chances for carrying out the scheme?”
“Ah, ha!” said the young detective to himself; “bank robbing, is it? That’s the scheme. Well, this detective business beats me. I guess nobody don’t often get a more excitin’ case than this one is—that’s what I think.”
After a little further discussion between the two crooks, Mortimer left the den and started for home. Bob suspected that he felt very happy to get away from there; and Bob was quite right, for, as a matter of fact, the young scoundrel had become so alarmed over the prospect, that he felt very uneasy about remaining a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. When he had gone, the old fence closed and bolted the doors, and then passed into a rear room, where he retired to his bed.
When all had been quiet for perhaps the space of fifteen or twenty minutes, the young detective crawled out of his box and straightened himself out. He had, however, been cramped up so long that this was not so easily done. But matters of so great moment were before him now, that he could not think of aches and pains. He learned about the location of the trap door, when the old fence and young Mortimer went into the cellar to look for him.
On his hands and knees Bob cautiously proceeded, searching on either side of him for the door. It was so dark that he could see nothing, and as the room was filled with chairs, old boxes, and so on, he found it no easy matter to navigate under such circumstances, especially as he knew that the slightest noise would prove fatal to his scheme.
At length his hand rested upon the fastening of the trap door, and to his horror he found it locked. If the room had seemed dark before to the young detective, it was now most oppressively black. What to do, which way to turn, he did not know. The doors leading to the street were locked, he had no keys about him, and no means of producing a light.
“This is the worst go I’ve struck yet,” said Bob to himself, as he meditated over his situation. “Jest as I thought everything was all fixed, this blamed old lock knocks me out. Well, I’ve pulled through pretty good so far, and I won’t give it up yet. I may strike an idea,” he continued, undismayed, and then commenced prowling stealthily about the room, in search of something—anything that would serve his purpose.
He thought if he could find the key to the hall door he would try to make his escape from the building; and, once out, he could get matches, and whatever else he needed to aid him in carrying out his scheme to a grand success. But he was no more fortunate in this effort than he had been in hunting for the key to the trap door.
He searched, too, every nook and corner for a match, but failed utterly to find one, or anything to keep his courage good. The situation began to look alarming to him. He was now as much a prisoner as Herbert Randolph.
“I wonder what Tom Flannery would do if he was in my place?” mused the young detective, as he sat upon the floor,somewhat depressed in spirits. “I think he’d just lay down and bawl and throw up the whole game, that’s what Tom Flannery would do. But I ain’t goin’ to throw up no game till it’s lost, not ef Bob Hunter knows himself. There ain’t but one thing to do now, and that’s to go into old Gunwagner’s bedroom, and take them keys outer his pocket, that’s what I think. Ef he was to wake up, tho’, and catch me at it—well, I guess I wouldn’t be in the detective business no more. But—what’s that noise?” said he to himself, suddenly becoming aware of a strange sound.
Our young detective felt a cold chill creep over him. His first thought was that the old fence was coming into his presence, and would of course capture him and punish him most inhumanly. But as the slight noise continued, and Gunwagner did not appear, Bob took courage, and listened keenly for developments. Presently the sound came nearer, and now a gleam of light shone up through a crack in the floor.
“Can it be Vermont?” said Bob to himself, hardly believing his own eyes.
Still nearer came the light.
“He is climbing the stairs, as sure’s I’m alive,” said Bob, almost overcome with joy.
In the trap door was a small knot hole, about an inch and a half in diameter. Through this opening the light now shone distinctly, and it was most welcome to the eyes of our young detective. A pressure was now brought to bear upon the door from the under side, but it only yielded so far as the fastening would allow.
“Is that you, Vermont?” whispered Bob through the knot hole.
No answer was given.
Herbert Randolph had never considered himself in any degree superstitious. But what could this be but Bob Hunter’s spirit?
“Don’t be afraid,” said the young detective, who imagined Herbert would find it difficult to realize that he was there. “It’s Bob Hunter. I ain’t got no card with me, or I’d send it down to you.”
This remark sounded so much like Bob that young Randolph no longer doubted his own senses.
“Bob Hunter!” exclaimed he. “How in the world came you here, and what are you doing?”
“Yes, it’s me, Vermont. But don’t stop to ask no questions now. I’m here to help you get out, but this blamed old door is locked, and I hain’t got no key, nor no light, nor nothin’.”
After exchanging a few words, Herbert took from his pocket a piece of paper. This he made into a taper, which he lighted and passed up through the knot hole to Bob. With this the latter lighted the gas; and now he felt that he was in a position to be of some service to his friend.
A careful search failed to reveal any keys. Then the two boys discussed the situation, and presently Herbert passed a bent nail to the young detective, and instructed him how to operate on the lock, which speedily yielded to the boy’s efforts. In another instant the trap door was thrown up, and, by a most unfortunate blunder, it fell back with a tremendous crash.
Herbert, however, emerged quickly from his cold, damp prison, with a look of consternation pictured upon his face. Both he and Bob knew that old Gunwagner would be upon them in less than a minute, and they hastily prepared to defend themselves.
THE OLD FENCE IN A TRAP.
“What shall we do?” said Bob, with no little alarm, as Herbert Randolph climbed up through the old trap door.
“We must defend ourselves,” replied the young Vermonter, with characteristic firmness.
“There ain’t no way to escape, is there?”
“No, I suppose not, if the hall door is locked.”
“It is, and I can’t find no key.”
“Have you looked since the gas was lighted?”
“Yes, and ’tain’t there nowhere.”
“Where do you imagine it is?”
“I guess the old duffer has it in his pocket, the same as he has the key to the trap door.”
“Well, there is no time to lose. Old Gunwagner will be down upon us in an instant.”
“Do you think he will bring a revolver with him?” asked Bob, somewhat nervously.
“Very likely he will.”
“I guess we’d better climb down cellar, then, and pretty lively, too.”
“No, we won’t,” replied Herbert, decidedly. “I have had all of that prison I want. We will fight it out here.”
“All right, then, I’ll shut this door down, or we might get thrown down cellar in the fight.”
“So we might, and—— Ah, here he comes!” said young Randolph, detecting the sound of footsteps, as old Gunwagner approached.