"What can I do for you, sir?" asked the real estate agent as Roy entered. "Take a chair."
Caleb Annister had been a little curious to see the young man whom his office boy described. He could not imagine what was wanted, but he scented a possible customer to engage some of the offices in the structure, for which he collected the rents.
"I want to make some inquiries regarding an office in your Bleeker street building," said Roy, for such was the designation of the property in question.
"Ah, yes. You are going to open an office, perhaps?"
"I may." This was the truth as Roy's father had said, if the agent was found to be dishonest, a new one, with an office in the Bleecker street building might be engaged.
"Aren't you rather young to go in business?"
"Perhaps, but I am representing other persons. Have you any offices to rent in that building?"
"A few."
"What do they rent for?"
It was Roy's idea to make inquiries in the guise of a possible tenant, and, see what prices Mr. Annister was charging. What his next move was you shall very soon see.
"Well, young man, rents are very high in that building. It is in a good neighborhood, where property is increasing in value all the while, and we have to charge high rents. Besides there is a good demand for offices there."
This, Roy thought, was not the sort of information Mr. Annister had sent to Mr. Bradner at the ranch.
"Do you own the building?" asked the western lad, wanting to see what the agent would say.
"No, but I am in full charge. It would be no use for you to see the owner, as he leaves everything to me. He would not give you any lower rent rate than I would. Besides, he lives away out West, and never comes to New York."
"Can you give me an idea of what the rents are for such offices as are vacant?" asked Roy, trying not to let any Western expressions slip into his talk, as he wanted to pose as a New Yorker.
"Is it for yourself?"
"No, for parties I represent."
"I can give you a list of such offices as are vacant, with the prices, and you can go and see them. The janitor will show them to you, if I send him a note."
"That will do very well."
Caleb Annister went over some books, and soon handed Roy a list of room numbers, with the prices at which they rented by the month. It needed but a glance at the list, and a rapid calculation on the part of Roy, who was quick at figures, to see that if the entire building rented in the same proportion, the income from it was much larger than what his father was receiving. Clearly there was something wrong, and he must find out where it was.
"I shall look at these offices," he said, "and let you know whether or not they will suit my friend."
"What is the name?" asked Mr. Annister, preparing to write a note to the janitor.
Now Roy was "up against it" as he put it. He did not want to give his name, or Mr. Annister would suspect something at once, and, possibly, put some obstacles in his way. Nor did he want to tell an untruth, and give a false name. Finally he saw a way out of the difficulty.
He decided to give De Royster's name, as he had an idea that if Mr. Annister proved to be dishonest, as it seemed he was, the young jewelry salesman could be induced to take the agency of the building, at least until he had to begin his travels again. To do this De Royster would need an office in the building, so it would be no untruth for Roy to give his name, and say he was looking for apartments for him. He knew his friend would consent. So he said:
"You may make out the note in the name of Mortimer De Royster."
"De Royster? That is a good name. I know some of the family."
Mr. Annister wrote the note, and gave it to Roy, not asking his name. In fact, the real estate man took his caller to be an office boy for Mr. De Royster, for business men in New York frequently send their office helpers on errands of importance, and this was no more than the average office boy could do.
With the note Roy went to the Bleecker Building, as it was called. He found the janitor, who readily showed him the vacant offices.
"Aren't rents rather high here?" asked Roy.
"That's what they are. But this is a good location for business men, and they're willing to pay for it," answered the man.
"Have you no cheaper offices than these?"
"No. In fact all the others cost more. Some men have several rooms, and they pay a good price."
"How many offices, or sets of offices, have you in this building? I should think it would keep you busy looking after them."
"It does," replied the janitor, who, like others of his class, liked a chance to complain of how hard they worked. "There are more than a hundred offices in this building."
"And are most of them rented?"
"All but the five I showed you. I tell you the man who owns this building has a fine thing out of it. He must make a lot over his expenses."
"Who owns it?" asked Roy, wanting to see how much the janitor knew.
"I couldn't tell you. Mr. Annister never told me. He hires me. I guess he must have an interest in the property."
"Yes, entirely too much of an interest in it," thought Roy. "He has some of my interest, and I'm going to get it back."
There was one thing more he wanted to know.
"Are the tenants good pay?" he asked.
"They have to be, young man. If they get behind a month Mr. Annister puts them out. That's why those five offices are vacant. But they'll soon be rented. You'd better hurry if you want one."
"My friend will think it over," answered the boy from the ranch.
He had found out what he wanted to know. The property, instead of decreasing in value as Mr. Annister had said, was increasing. Nearly every office was rented at a good price, and the tenants were prompt pay, save in a few instances. It did not require much calculation to see that the income from the property was nearly double what Mr. Annister reported it to be to Mr. Bradner. That meant but one thing. The dishonest agent was keeping part of the rent for himself, and sending false reports to Roy's father.
But it was one thing to know this, and another to prove it. Roy left the building, thanking the janitor for his trouble, and started back toward Mr. Annister's office.
"I wonder what I had better do?" he thought.
Perhaps, if Mr. Bradner had known just the extent of the rascality of his agent, he might not have sent Roy to investigate. But, at the worst, he only imagined that perhaps the man might be careless in collecting the rents, which would account for the small income from the property.
Roy certainly had a difficult task before him, and he hardly knew how to undertake it. Should he confront Caleb Annister with the evidence of his dishonesty, or would it be better to wait a while? He had all the proof he needed; but what would be the outcome? That was what puzzled Roy.
Finally, with a decision characteristic of him, and following his nature, which was influenced by the openness of action associated with the West, he made up his mind.
"I'll go right back and see him," reasoned the boy, "tell him who I am, show him that I know he's been cheating us, and demand that he make good the money he has taken. Then I'll see how he acts. If he pays back the rent money he has retained I guess dad will not be hard on him. If he doesn't—"
Roy knew his father was a man who would have his rights if there was any way of getting them. He had half a notion to telegraph his father for instructions, but he wanted to do the work all alone, if he could.
When he got back to the office where Mr. Annister had his rooms, the boy in the outer apartment did not stop Roy to ask him his business. He at once announced him to the agent, who told Roy to come in. The boy from the ranch nerved himself for what was coming. He felt just as he used to when, for the first time, he mounted a new bucking bronco. There was no telling just what the animal would do. Likewise he did not know how Caleb Annister would act when he exposed his rascality.
"Well, did you see the offices?" asked the real estate man.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you like them? We think they are the best in New York."
"They are very fine. The rents are higher than I thought to find them."
"Perhaps, but you must know there is a good demand for offices in that neighborhood. I could have rented them several times, since they were vacant, but I wanted to get good tenants, who would pay."
"You have no cheaper offices you could let Mr. De Royster have?"
"None. In fact I am thinking of raising the rents of those."
Roy wondered if he and his father would get any of the increase.
"That property must be quite valuable," he went on.
"It is."
Roy now felt that the real estate agent had convicted himself. There was need of no further evidence. It was time to make the disclosure.
"Mr. Annister," said Roy. "Perhaps I had better introduce myself. Here is my card."
He handed over one on which he had written his name, and the address of his father's ranch, as well as that of the hotel where he was stopping.
For a moment the agent did not know what to do, as he looked at the bit of pasteboard. His face became pale, then red, then pale again. Next he smiled, in a sickly sort of way.
"So you are Roy Bradner, son of James Bradner, eh?" he asked, slowly.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, that's—that's a pretty good joke," went on the agent. "A pretty good joke."
Roy could not quite see it.
"You come East here, and pretend to want an office in the building your father owns, and you take me in completely. That is a good joke. But I see what you are after."
"That will save a lot of explanation then, Mr. Annister."
"I see what you want," the agent went on. "You wanted to find out in a quiet way, if I was properly looking after your father's property. So you come here, and don't let me know who you are. It's a good joke. But I guess you found I was looking after your interests; didn't you? You found me faithful to my trust. Now you can go back and tell your father that I am looking well after his affairs. That's what you can do. When are you going back?"
"I don't know!" exclaimed Roy boldly, "but when I do go back I will tell my father that you are a swindler, and that you are cheating him—and me also—out of our rent money."
"What's that?" cried Mr. Annister, his face fairly purple with rage. "You dare call me a swindler! I'll have you arrested for insulting me! Leave my office at once! How dare you address me in that manner?"
"I dare because I'm right," replied Roy coolly. "You can't bluff me, Mr. Annister. I see through your game. I now demand that you pay back all the money you have retained, or I shall make a complaint against you."
The bold and fearless bearing of the boy had its effect on the real estate agent. He saw he had to deal with a lad, who, if he had had no previous business experience, was capable of looking after his own interests.
"Perhaps you will kindly explain," said the agent, in a tone he meant to be sarcastic, but which did not deceive Roy.
"Certainly. I accuse you of charging high rents for the offices in the Bleecker Building, and with sending my father only about half of what you collect!"
"Oh! So that's the game; is it?" asked the agent, with a sneer. "Perhaps you know how much I take in as rent for the offices in that building?"
"I can pretty nearly figure it out," and Roy mentioned a sum that was so near the mark that Mr. Annister was startled.
"And perhaps you know what the expenses are, the taxes, the water rent, the insurance and so forth?"
"No, but I know what you charged my father for those items, and, taking them out, at your figures, and also your commission, it would leave a larger sum than we ever received."
Mr. Annister saw that he was dealing with no novice, even if the lad was from the western ranch. He resolved to proceed on a different plan.
"You may think yourself very smart," he said to Roy, "but you do not understand New York real estate."
"I understand enough for this case, I think."
"I'm afraid not," and the agent smiled. He was beginning to get command of his nerves. "You see there are many expenses you do not know of."
"You never mentioned them to my father."
"No, I could not. Besides, how do I know that your father sent you to make these inquiries? I do not even know you are Roy Bradner. You may be an impostor."
"I think I can soon prove to you who I am. As for my authority, there is a letter from my father to you, instructing you to turn this business over to me at my demand."
He handed Mr. Annister a letter to this effect written by Mr. Bradner, and properly executed before a notary public. The rascally agent knew the signature of Mr. Bradner only too well.
But he was not going to give up so easily.
"Any one can write a letter, and forge a signature," he said.
"Then you think I forged my father's name?" and a dangerous look came into Roy's eyes. It was a look such as that when he stopped the runaway horse.
"I don't care to have any further conversation with you," said Mr. Annister, sneeringly. "I do not recognize your authority. How do I know you are Roy Bradner? You will have to bring me better proof than this. Besides, even if you are who you say you are, that does not say you understand this renting business. It is very complicated. There are many charges I have to meet which makes the amounts received for rent much less than you have figured. Besides, the property is in bad shape, it needs repairs, and it is going down in value."
"You said a little while ago that it was increasing."
The agent started. He saw he had made a mistake.
"Oh, well," he said impatiently. "You are only a boy; you can't understand it."
"I may be only a boy, but I think I understand what is going on, and that is that you are cheating my father and me. I was in the building to-day. It is in excellent repair."
"Don't you dare accuse me of cheating!" exclaimed Mr. Annister, but his tone was not as blustering as it had been.
"I believe that is the truth."
"What do you intend to do?" inquired the agent, as he saw that Roy was firm. "Not that it makes any difference to me, for I shall communicate with your father, but I do not want you to come here and annoy me."
He was beginning to be afraid of what Roy might disclose.
"I intend to make you return the money you have unlawfully retained. I believe it is called embezzling, and is a criminal offense. But I will give you a little time. I shall call here a week from to-day. If, by that time, you do not have what I consider a proper sum ready to send to my father I shall consult with the police."
"Pooh! The police will never interfere. This is a civil matter—not criminal."
"I think it is criminal. But I will wait one week. In the meanwhile I shall write to my father and see what he advises me to do. But I shall report all the facts in the case."
"Get out of my office!" exclaimed the now angry and frightened real estate agent. "I believe you are an impostor. If you annoy me again I shall have you arrested!"
"Get out of my office!""Get out of my office!"
"Get out of my office!""Get out of my office!"
"I'll leave your office, because I have finished my business with you, and not because I am afraid of arrest," answered Roy coolly. "You know I am not an impostor. I can prove who I am. I shall call on you again in a week," and he went out in time to surprise the office boy with his ear at the key hole, listening to what was going on.
"Cracky!" exclaimed the little lad, when Roy had gone out. "He certainly talked to the boss like a Dutch Uncle."
Meanwhile Mr. Annister sat in his office chair, much disturbed in his mind. He was in great alarm, for he knew Roy was no impostor.
"What am I going to do?" he asked himself. "He has found me out!"
He sat biting his nails nervously, his eyes roving about his office, as if seeking some way of escape from the trouble he was in. Suddenly an idea came to him.
"I must get that boy out of the way," he said in a low whisper, which even the office lad could not hear. "He knows too much. He is too smart. And I must act promptly. If I can get him out of the way for
Roy passed out through the outer rooms of Caleb Annister's suite of offices. He noted the eavesdropping act of the boy, but said nothing to the small chap, who seemed much embarrassed. Then Roy, with his head somewhat in a whirl over what he had just gone through, went into the tiled corridor.
He got into an elevator, but, no sooner had the attendant closed the iron-grilled door than the car seemed to fall to the bottom of the elevator well with a sickening suddenness.
"Look out!" cried the boy from the ranch, startled out of his reverie concerning Mr. Annister, by the fear that the car had broken from the cable. "She's going to smash!" he cried.
Down, down, down fell the car, but, to Roy's surprise no one seemed to mind it. To him it felt, as he expressed it, "as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach."
Roy clung to one side of the iron grating which formed the car. Every moment he expected the cage to be dashed to pieces. Then some one laughed. Roy knew something was going on that he didn't understand.
A moment later the car came to a gradual stop, amid a hissing of air.
"Say, stranger, does it often break loose and go on a stampede that way?" asked Roy of the attendant who opened the door at the ground floor.
"What's the matter? Did it scare you?"
"Well, it was a pretty good imitation of it," replied Roy, while the other passengers broke into laughter. "I sure thought I was going to China. What was the matter?"
"Nothing. This is an express elevator, and it drops from the twentieth story to the ground in about fifteen seconds. It lands into an air chamber, as soft as a piece of rubber. There's no danger. I do it a hundred times a day."
"You'll have to excuse me the next time," said Roy, with a smile as he got out. "I don't exactly cotton to elevators anyhow, but when they drop you like a steer falling over a cliff, why it'll be walk the stairs for mine, after this. It sure will."
"Guess you're from out West, ain't you?"
"That's what I am, and it's a mighty good place. Say, that trip sure made me dizzy."
Indeed there is a curious feeling about being dropped twenty stories in a swift elevator, and Roy might well be excused for his sensation.
However, he soon recovered himself, and, as it was noon time, and he had a good appetite, he looked about for a place to get something to eat.
He noticed a small restaurant nearby, and went in.
Instead of seeing tables set out in the place, he beheld rows of chairs, with one arm made very large, so that it served as a shelf on which to place plates, cups and saucers. In fact it was a chair and table combined.
He saw men eating, and others hurrying to and fro, so he took a vacant place, and sat there, expecting a waiter to come to him and take his order. He remained there for some time, noting that the men seated in a row on either side of him, were busy with their food, but no attendant came to him.
"This is queer," thought the boy. "The waiters must be terribly busy. They don't keep you waiting like this at my hotel."
Finally a man, seeing that Roy was a stranger, spoke to him, saying:
"You have to wait on yourself here."
"Wait on yourself?"
"Yes. You go up to that counter over there," pointing to it, "and take whatever you want. You'll find plates, knives, forks and so on. Then, if you want coffee, you take a cup, go to that counter, where the man stands, and he'll draw a cup for you."
"Thanks," replied Roy, proceeding to put these directions into use. Then for the first time he noticed that the other patrons of the restaurant were doing the same thing.
Roy helped himself to some sandwiches, crullers, a piece of cheese and some pie.
"I wonder who I pay?" he thought, as he saw no one behind the food counter to take any money. "Guess it must be the man at the coffee urn."
He carried his food to a chair, placing it on the broad arm. Then he went back for a cup of coffee.
"I got some grub back there," he said to the man. "What's the damage?"
"Pay the girl at the desk when you go out," replied the man shortly without looking around. "Tell her what you had, and she'll tell you how much it is."
"Well, isn't that the limit," exclaimed Roy, half to himself, as he got his coffee. "This is certainly a new-fangled way of getting your grub."
Still he rather liked the novelty of it. Certainly it was quick, once one learned how to go about it. Roy made a good though not very fancy meal, and then walked up to the desk, where he observed other men paying.
"Well," asked the young lady, who seemed to have a very large amount of light hair, piled up on top of her head in all sorts of waves and frizzes.
"What'd you have?"
She spoke briskly, making change for one man, and handing another one a box of cigars, that he might take one, and, all the while she never stopped chewing gum.
Roy named over the articles.
"Twenty cents!" exclaimed the girl. "Here, that's a lead nickel!" she added quickly, to the customer just ahead of Roy. "Don't try any of them tricks on me."
Roy laid down two dimes, wondering at the cheapness of the meal, and feeling quite confused by the rush and excitement about him.
He walked out, wondering what his next move should be. He had not gone a dozen steps up the street, before he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to mention to the young lady at the desk that he had a piece of pie.
"I've got to go right back and pay her for that pie!" thought the lad. "She'll think I'm trying to cheat her. Lucky I thought of it when I did, or they might have sent a policeman after me."
He hurried back, and made his way to the desk through a crowd of men coming out.
"Say," he began to the cashier, "I'm awfully sorry, but I made a mistake."
"No mistakes corrected after you leave the desk. See that sign?" and the girl pointed to one to that effect. "You should count your change while you're here. You can't work that game on me."
"I'm not trying to work any game," and Roy felt a little hurt that his good motive should thus be mistaken. "I had a piece of pie and I forgot to tell you of it. I came back to pay the five cents."
"Oh!"
The girl's manner changed, and she looked a little embarrassed. "That's all right. You could have paid me to-morrow.
"But I might not be here to-morrow."
Roy laid down a five-cent piece.
"Say, but you're honest!" exclaimed the cashier, as she put back a straggling lock of her yellow hair. "You can't live in New York."
"Now I wonder why she said that?" reasoned Roy, as he walked along the street. "Can it be that every one in New York is dishonest? Well, I certainly think Mr. Annister is. I must write to father, and tell him what took place. Then I wander what I had better do next."
Roy was quite perplexed. He would have been more worried had he known what was passing through the mind of Caleb Annister at that moment.
The rascally real estate agent was more worried over the visit of Roy than he cared to acknowledge, even to himself. The truth was that Caleb Annister was planning a bold stroke, which was nothing less than to obtain title of the building belonging to Mr. Bradner and his son.
For a long time, as Mr. Bradner had suspected, the agent had been cheating him, retaining part of the rents. But this did not satisfy Mr. Annister. He had begun to steal, and he liked that easy way of getting money so well that he determined on operations on a larger scale. Now Roy's coming was likely to interfere with this.
It was Caleb Annister's plan to obtain ownership of the building in this way. Though he had reported to Mr. Bradner that the taxes had been always paid promptly, they were, in fact, very much behind, and had not been paid for two years.
Consequently the city had put the property up for sale for unpaid taxes. A certain length of time must elapse before a title could be taken from the former owner, and given to any one who would pay the taxes and other city charges.
Mr. Annister planned to pay these back taxes without Mr. Bradner's knowledge and so become the owner of the building, which was quite valuable. But it needed about two weeks before his trick could be consummated, and with Roy on hand in New York it might not go through at all.
For the real estate agent realized, that as Roy had already begun to investigate the property, he might not stop there, but go further discover that the taxes were unpaid, and have his father pay them in the two weeks that remained, thus keeping the title of the building and land in Mr. Bradner's name.
"I must prevent that at all costs!" exclaimed the agent, as he sat in his office, when Roy had gone. "I have gone too far to back out now. And I will not be thwarted by a mere boy. Bah! Why should I be afraid of him? If I can get him out of the way—if I can have him disappear for two weeks, I can snap my fingers at him and his father too. Then I'll no longer be the agent for the Bleecker Building—I'll be the owner, and a wealthy man!"
He gave himself up to day-dreams of what this would mean. He was brought back from it, however, by the necessity of getting Roy out of the way.
"I wonder how I can do it?" he murmured.
At present Caleb Annister could see no way of bringing this about. He decided to go out for dinner, thinking, perhaps, some plan might occur to him.
As he was walking along the street he almost collided with a man who was hurrying along in the opposite direction.
"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Mr. Annister.
"Certainly. My fault entirely," replied the other. "I—why, if it isn't Caleb Annister," he went on. "How are you?"
"Phelan Baker!" cried Mr. Annister, in a tone of surprise. "I thought you were out West."
"I was, but I arrived in New York this morning."
"And how are Sutton and Hynard?" went on Mr. Annister. "I haven't seen them since that affair of—"
"Hush! Don't mention such things in public," cautioned Mr. Baker, for what Mr. Annister referred to was a swindling game in which Baker and his cronies had been involved, and the discovery of which had made it necessary for them to leave the city awhile.
"The boys are all right," went on Mr. Baker. "Tupper is with them. In fact they came on to New York with me. We were delayed on the road." He did not say this was caused by the necessity for fleeing after robbing Mortimer De Royster. "We're at the same hotel. By the way," he went on, "you couldn't lend me fifty dollars; could you? I'm short, and the boys have very little. We haven't had any luck lately. I'd like fifty dollars for a few days. Can you let me have it?"
"I'm sorry," began Mr. Annister. "I'd like to, but the truth is I have some heavy bills to meet, and people who owe me money, have not paid me. Otherwise—"
"Well, perhaps I can get it somewhere else," said Mr. Baker. In fact he had very little hope, when he made the request of Mr. Annister, that he would get the loan. The real estate agent was known to be very "close", seldom lending money, though he was quite well off.
"I'd like to accommodate you," went on Caleb Annister, brightening up, when he saw that Mr. Baker was not going to press the matter, "but you see how it is."
"You haven't any work that you want done; have you?" asked the man who had helped to rob Mortimer De Royster, and who had tried unsuccessfully to rob and swindle Roy. "We could do almost anything you wanted done, if you paid us for it. None of us have anything in view to get a few dollars at."
Suddenly a thought came into the wicked brain of Caleb Annister. This might be the very chance he was looking for! Baker and his men could get Roy out of the way for him. He would try it.
"Perhaps you might do me a service," he said. "It is very simple, and does not amount to a great deal."
Mr. Baker knew the real estate agent well enough to feel that whenever he wanted anything done, it was no small matter. But he merely said:
"Tell me what it is. If it's possible we'll do it—for money, of course."
"Oh, it's very possible, and I will be willing to pay you and your friends well. Come and have lunch with me, and we will talk it over."
Caleb Annister had intended going to an expensive restaurant and ordering a fine meal, for he was fond of good living, but, when he found he would have to take Baker, and pay for his dinner, he changed his plans, and went to a cheap eating place.
There, sitting in a secluded corner, Mr. Annister unfolded a plot to the swindler.
"There is a certain young man, lately arrived in New York," said the real estate agent, "who is bothering me. Nothing serious, you understand, but I have a certain deal to put through and he might spoil it. I want him kept out of the way for two weeks. By that time my plans will be finished, and I don't care what he does. Do you think you can get him, and take him, say to some nearby town, or even some place in New York and keep him there for two weeks? But I must insist that no harm comes to him."
With all his swindling schemes, Mr. Annister would not go too far.
"Sure we can do it," replied Phelan Baker. "That's easy. What do we get for it?"
"If you get him away, and keep him out of sight for two weeks all will be well, and I will pay you a thousand dollars."
"Good enough! We'll do it. Now who is this boy you want taken away?"
"Roy Bradner."
"What? Roy Bradner, the boy from Triple O ranch?"
"That's the one. But what do you know of him?" and Mr. Annister was very much astonished.
"This is curious," murmured Baker. "Very curious. I'll tell you about it, Annister."
When Roy got out into the street again, after paying for the pie he had forgotten about, he was quite puzzled as to which direction to take to get back to his hotel.
"Guess I'm off the trail," he told himself. "I'd ought to have brought a compass along. Let's see, which way is North?"
He looked about for a sight of the sun, but, though it was shining, the tall buildings hid it from view.
"Might as well be down in the grand canyon of the Colorado, as here in New York for all you can see of the sun," he murmured.
"I ought to have taken more notice of the way I came, but what with going in so many buildings, and that express elevator, I'm all turned around."
He tried to think which way to take, and then, getting over a little natural embarrassment about asking a stranger the road, he inquired of a well-dressed man the way to get to his hotel, the name of which, fortunately, Roy remembered.
"Go right down those stairs," said the man, pointing to a flight which started in a little shelter built on the sidewalk. "Take an uptown express, and you'll land right at your hotel. There's a station there."
"Station?" thought Roy. "That's a queer place for a station. Didn't have room for it above ground, I reckon."
He walked down the flight of steps, finding himself in a brilliantly lighted place. Doing as he saw the crowd do he bought a ticket at a little window and then, seeing a sign "Uptown Express Trains," he followed the throng going in that direction.
A moment later a string of cars came rumbling up along-side of the platform.
"All aboard!" called the guard.
The boy from the ranch got in and took a seat. The next moment the train started off at great speed, for it was an express, and made but few stops. Leaving the brilliantly-lighted station the cars plunged into darkness, relieved by an occasional electric lamp.
"Must be a tunnel," thought Roy. "We'll come out on top of the ground in a minute, and I can see what New York looks like. Space is so crowded down town, I s'pose they have to tunnel for a few blocks."
But the tunnel did not come to an end. In vain Roy waited for the train to emerge into daylight. Past station after station it rushed, the lights there showing for an instant, and then the darkness closing in again.
Finally the express stopped. Several passengers got off, and more got on. Then it started up again, still whizzing through the dark.
Roy could stand it no longer. Perhaps he had made a mistake and gotten into the wrong train This one might be destined for China, or some other under-ground port. Roy made his way to where a guard was standing.
"Excuse me, stranger," he began, in his broad western tones. "But how long is this tunnel, anyhow?"
"Tunnel? This ain't no tunnel!"
"No? what is it then? It's a pretty good imitation. Looks like an underground river that has gone dry."
"Why, this is the subway."
"The subway?"
"Sure. It goes right under the streets, all the way along New York."
Then Roy understood. Mortimer De Royster had told him something of this underground railroad, through the heart of New York, but thinking of other things had put it out of Roy's mind. A little later he alighted and walked to his hotel.
Meanwhile Caleb Annister and Mr. Baker had been plotting together. They discussed many schemes, and at last hit on one they thought would answer.
"I think we'll let Tupper do the trick," said Baker. "Young Bradner saw less of him than he did of the rest of us, and if Tupper shaves off his moustache, and changes his voice a bit, as he can do, the boy will never recognize him," for Baker had told Mr. Annister of the encounter of himself and his cronies with the boy from the ranch.
"Anything so as to get him away for two weeks," said the agent. "Don't tell him too much about it, and then—if anything happens, you understand—I can't be called to testify."
"Oh, nothing will happen, in the way you mean. We'll be careful. Now where is he stopping?"
Mr. Annister mentioned the name of the hotel, which Roy had written on the card he had left with the agent.
"All right. I'll see Tupper, and have him fix up to do the job. It ought to be easy. You'll have the money, I suppose?"
"As soon as he is out of the way—safely—you get the thousand dollars."
There was some more talk, and the two plotters separated.
It was three days after this, during which time Roy had enjoyed himself going about New York alone, (for he had not seen De Royster) that, as he was sitting in the hotel lobby one afternoon, a well-dressed man approached him.
"Aren't you from out Painted Stone way, in Colorado?" asked the man pleasantly.
"That's where I'm from, the Triple O ranch," replied Roy, who was frank by nature, and unsuspicious. He wondered who the man could be, and how he knew where he was from in the west.
"I thought so," went on the stranger. "I was out on a ranch near there about a week ago and I happened to be at the railroad station when you got aboard."
"What ranch were you on?" asked Roy, for he knew them all within a radius of a hundred miles of his father's.
"Why, it was—er—let's see—seems to me it was the Double X."
"There's no such ranch near Painted Stone."
"Well, maybe I'm wrong. I just stopped there, but I have a poor memory for names," said the stranger quickly. "But permit me to introduce myself. I'm John Wakely, of Buffalo. I'm a stranger in New York, and, as you are also, I thought we might go about a bit together."
"That would suit me," replied Roy, who was beginning to feel a bit lonely in the big city, without the company of a friend. He thought this was a good opportunity to go around and see the sights. He told the man his name.
"Suppose we go in and have some ice cream soda," went on Mr. Wakely. "Or, better, still, have it in my room. I'm stopping at this hotel. Then we can go out a bit."
The idea appealed to Roy, who had a liking for the ice cream sodas he had only lately become familiar with. The day was hot, and the stranger seemed very cordial. Roy had a dim suspicion that he had heard his voice somewhere before, but he could not place it. Certainly the face was not one he could recall.
They went to Mr. Wakely's room, and soon a bell boy brought two large glasses of the cool beverage.
He set them down on the table between Mr. Wakely and Roy, and then withdrew. Had Roy known now of the dangers of the city he never would have trusted a stranger as he did this one.
"Is that your handkerchief on the floor behind you?" asked Mr. Wakely suddenly, pointing at something on the carpet.
Roy turned. At the same instant Mr. Wakely extended his hand over the glass of soda in front of the boy. Something like a white powder sifted down into it.
A moment later Roy turned back.
"It's not my handkerchief," he said. "Must be a piece of dust rag, the work-girl dropped."
"Very likely. But drink your soda and we'll go out." The boy put to his lips the glass, into which Mr. Wakely had sifted the white powder. He was in great danger, but he did not realize nor suspect it.