OUT IN THE STORM
The telegram from Ned's father, which the three chums received that
Wednesday evening, telling them their friend was not at his home in
Darewell, was a great shock to them.
"Why," remarked Bart, as he picked up the message he had dropped, "it
hardly seems possible. I wonder where in the world he can be. He starts
for home but he never arrives."
"Are we sure he started for home?" asked Frank.
"Why of course," Fenn answered. "Didn't the telegram from Mrs. Kenfield
say so?"
"She would hardly know," Frank went on. "Ned's train for Darewell
wouldn't leave until four o'clock. The timetable shows that. According
to what the woman who lives next door to Mrs. Kenfield told us, Ned's
aunt started away before noon. Her train must have left about that time,
so Ned couldn't have gotten away from New York, if he left at all, until
after his aunt had started for Chicago. Consequently though she may
have seen him leave the depot where she was, with the intention of going
back to Darewell, that's no proof that he really went back home."
"That's so," admitted Bart, struck with the force of Frank's reasoning.
"But where then can he be?"
"That's what we've got to find out," said Fenn.
"How are we going to do it?" Bart inquired.
"I think Ned's right here in New York," Frank went on. "Now look at it.
His aunt goes away unexpectedly and closes the house up. It would seem
natural for Ned to go back home, but we find out he has not. He doesn't
know any one else in this part of the country, or he would have told us.
Consequently he has not gone to any other city. Therefore he must be in
New York."
"But why would he stay here?" insisted Bart.
"Probably for the same reason we're going to, in order to see the
sights."
"Then why didn't he send some word home to let his father know?" Bart
asked. "Mr. Wilding wouldn't be starting for New York if he knew Ned was
safe here. Ned hasn't communicated with his father, that's sure."
"I forgot about that," Frank admitted. "That makes it look different."
"Maybe something has happened to him," suggested Fenn.
"Don't look for trouble, Stumpy," remarked Bart. "It's bad enough as it
is."
"However I still think Ned is in New York," Frank went on. "He may be
sick or he may have been hurt, which would prevent him communicating
with us, or with his father. But that he's in this city I'm sure. Now
the thing for us to do is to find him."
"But how?" asked Fenn.
"There are dozens of ways. We must communicate with the police and ask
their help."
"Ned wouldn't like that," interposed Bart. "He's not a criminal."
"Of course not," Frank answered. "But the police have to help find lots
of persons who are not criminals. If Ned's in trouble we want to know it
as soon as possible so we can help him."
"Then the sooner we start the better," suggested Bart. "Where ought we
to begin?"
"Let's ask the agent here at the station where Ned's train came in,"
Frank said. "Perhaps he may have noticed him."
"Not likely," replied Bart. "Too many passengers coming and going."
They made some inquiries, but, as Bart had said, there were too many
arrivals and departures for the agent to have taken particular note of a
boy among a thousand others.
"That settles one end of it," remarked Fenn, as they were about to leave
the depot. "Let's arrange to stop at some hotel. We're going to be here
several days, very likely."
"So we are," Frank replied. "Hold on! Wait a minute! I've just thought
of something."
"What?" asked Bart.
"The baggage room. We can find out if there are any trunks from Darewell,
besides our own, that have not been called for. Besides I know Ned's when
I see it."
They hurried to the baggage agent and told him what they wanted. He soon
ascertained from his records that four trunks had come in from Darewell
in the last few days. Three were those of the three chums, which had
arrived that noon.
"I've got one other," the agent said. "It came in Monday, and there are
storage charges on it now."
"Can we look at it?" asked Frank.
The agent showed it to them.
"That's Ned's trunk!" cried Frank. "We're on the track. He hasn't left
New York, that's sure. Has any one called for that trunk?" he asked the
agent.
"No, but I wish they would. It's in the way here."
"Could you let us know in case any one does call?" Frank went on, giving
his reasons for the request. "We'll pay you for your trouble."
"I s'pose I could. Where'll you be?"
"We ought to stop at some hotel near here," Frank suggested. "Then we
can come here quickly if we get a message."
"Do you know of a good hotel near here?" asked Bart of the agent.
"There's the Imperial a few blocks up the street. It's not especially
good, but it's respectable. I guess you could stop there."
"That will do," Frank said. "We'll get rooms there. We will send for our
trunks, and you can telephone us in case that other one is called for."
He gave the man a couple of dollars to pay for his trouble, and for any
telephone messages he might have to send, and then the three chums went
to the same hotel where Ned had stopped.
The same clerk was on duty who had been there when Ned registered, and he
seemed rather surprised at the three well dressed youths who entered.
Usually the Imperial, in spite of its name, did not attract such a class
of patrons. The boys bargained for three connecting rooms, and, as they
had plenty of money were given good apartments on the second floor.
"Register," the clerk said, swinging the book around to them.
As Bart took the pen to write his name, he looked at the book and gave a
start.
"I thought first that was Ned's writing," he said as he looked where his
chum, but a few hours before had written "Thomas Seldon."
"Friend of yours?" asked the clerk quickly.
"I thought first it looked like the writing of a chum of mine," Bart
replied. "But it's different I see."
"Guess that chap doesn't travel in your company," the clerk went on, as
the other boys put down their names.
"Why?"
"Oh, he's a crook I guess," and he told of the discovery of Ned's escape
down the rope. "He hasn't done anything as far as we can learn," the
clerk went on, "but his getting out that way showed there was something
wrong, though he was honest enough to leave a dollar for his room, which
he didn't occupy. However, the police would like to get him just to see
why he was in such a hurry to get away.
"Funny thing, too," the clerk continued. "He left his valise behind him.
He must have lowered it out of the window by the rope, or else he threw
it out. Anyway, just before we found out that he had gone, our chef went
out in the back yard for a breath of air. He saw the valise lying on the
ground, but didn't take notice of the rope. He brought the satchel in
and gave it to me. I was talking to a detective at the desk, one who
comes in here every once in a while to see if there are any suspicious
characters. I was telling him about this Seldon lad, just as the cook
handed me the grip. I recognized it as the one the boy had when he came
in, and got suspicious. We went to his room, but he had skipped. We've
got the valise yet, but haven't opened it. The police may in a few
days."
The boys slept soundly that night. They awoke in the morning to find a
heavy snow storm in progress. They spent the day going from one place to
another, following the advice they got at the office of the chief of
police. But all to no purpose. There was no trace of Ned. They were out
almost all day in the storm, which continued to get worse as night
approached.
"There's one thing we forgot," said Frank, as they prepared to go back
to the hotel for the night.
"What?" asked Fenn.
"We should have let Mr. Wilding know where we are stopping. You know he
said he was coming to New York. We must send him a wire. If he has left
Darewell, the bank will know his address here, and forward it to us."
This plan, Frank's chums decided, was a wise one. They turned toward a
telegraph office which they had noticed near their hotel. As they were
going down a dark side street Bart, who was in advance, stumbled over
something and fell into a snow drift.
"Hurt yourself?" asked Frank.
"No. It was like falling into a feather bed, only it's cold."
Just then something like a groan sounded from the object Bart had
stumbled over.
"What's that?" asked Fenn.
The three boys bent over the object.
"It's a boy!" cried Frank. "He's almost frozen to death. Come on,
fellows! We must carry him to some shelter."
"Better take him to our hotel," suggested Bart.
They picked up the boy, who was lying in a drift of snow on the sidewalk,
and hurried on with him. Feeble moans came from between the unknown's
white lips.