TROUBLE
Jet was not just certain, when he seated himself on the bench to wait
for another summons, whether he had done right in obeying the tall man
so implicitly, but yet he could not understand how it would make any
difference to the manager, since he brought back the amount of money
which was the lawful charge for such service.
"I'll ask one of the other fellows," he said to himself, and then the
rush of business was so great that he almost forgot the incident of the
morning.
Until two o'clock in the afternoon he was busily engaged, and at that
hour returned after having been to the post-office to mail a large lot
of circulars sent by a particularly testy and disagreeable old
gentleman.
"You needn't sit down," the manager said sharply, as the boy laid the
service slip on the desk. "Go with this man and see to it that you
tell the whole truth."
Jet looked in surprise at a gentlemanly appearing person who was
pointed out to him, standing near the door, and asked hesitatingly:
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Exactly what I said. Don't keep him waiting, and come back here at
once if they let you go to-day."
This last remark was yet more mysterious than the first, but Jet did
not have an opportunity to ask any more questions, for at this instant
the stranger took him by the arm, saying as he did so:
"Now walk sharp. I've lost too much time already."
There was no other alternative but to obey, for the man literally
dragged him through the crowds on the sidewalks, and continued on at a
rapid pace until the two were at the entrance of Police Headquarters.
"What am I to go in there for?" Jet asked, as he tried to hold back.
"The inspector wants to see you," the man replied, and the boy ceased
any show of resistance, for he began to realize that he was a prisoner,
although on what charge he could not so much as guess.
Ten minutes later he was standing in front of the inspector, and that
gentleman was gazing at him scrutinizingly.
"What is your name?" he asked abruptly, and when the answer had been
given be continued by inquiring into all the particulars of his short
life, until Jet cried in desperation:
"What do you think I have done, sir?"
"That remains to be seen," was the unsatisfactory reply, as, after
writing down all the boy had said, the inspector summoned a man in the
garb of an ordinary citizen, to whom he handed the paper as he said in
a low tone: "Find out if this is correct, and come back at once."
Then turning to Jet:
"How long have you been a district messenger?"
"Two days."
"What time in the morning do you go on duty?"
"Seven o'clock."
"What was the first call you had to-day?"
"To No. -- East Fourteenth Street."
"Tell me all that happened there, and remember If you try to lie I
shall know it."
Jet, confused and bewildered by the strange position in which he found
himself, did as he was bidden.
Just for an instant he believed it would be only just toward the man
who had hired him, to repeat what he had been told to say, but then
came the thought that he was virtually under arrest and the truth
should be spoken at every hazard.
"Can you describe these men?" the inspector asked, when his short story
was told.
Jet did his best, not omitting to say that the hair of one and the
whiskers of another looked suspiciously false.
"Would you know them again?"
"I'm certain of it. The tall man I could spot even if the whiskers
were taken off."
At this point the officer who had been sent to learn the truth of Jet's
statement regarding himself, returned, nodded his head in a significant
manner, and immediately disappeared through another doorway.
Over and over again did the inspector insist on Jet's telling the story
of his morning's work, and when fully an hour had been spent in this
manner he said decidedly more kindly than before:
"I believe you have spoken the truth, but you will be an important
witness in a very serious case, and I suppose it is my duty to send you
to the House of Detention."
"Does that mean I'm goin' to be locked up?" Jet asked in alarm.
"You will be deprived of your liberty, but it is very different from
going to jail."
"Don't do that! Please don't do that! I've just got a job where I can
earn a good deal of money, and it'll knock me out of it. Besides," Jet
added as a lucky thought occurred to him, "if I keep on about my
business I may see them fellers again."
"You advance a very good argument, and, in fact, I am depending on you
to do that same thing, but how shall I know that you won't give us the
slip?"
"I'll stay right at the office, except when I'm out with a message, an'
come here every night if you say the word."
"Do you know of any one who would go bail for your appearance when
wanted?"
"Mammy Showers would tell you that I'll act square up to what I say."
The inspector did not reply for several seconds, and then it was to say:
"I'll take your word for it, my boy. You are to report to me, or one
of the officers here, every twenty-four hours, and, in the meanwhile,
if you get a glimpse of either of those men, follow him until word can
be sent to me; but do not speak of this matter to any one."
It was evident that this ended the interview, for the inspector rose to
his feet, and Jet, overjoyed at the prospect of escaping imprisonment,
hurried out of the gloomy-looking building.
On his return to the office the manager, who was particularly busy at
that moment, motioned him to a seat on the messengers' bench, and the
fat boy, unusually wide awake, asked in a blood-curdling whisper:
"Did you really have anything to do with that murder?"
"What do you mean?"
"There was a man killed an' robbed over on East Twentieth Street last
night, and some of the fellers said you was down to headquarters
tellin' the police all about it."
"And it was the murderers I saw this morning!" Jet repeated aloud,
astounded by the knowledge that he had possibly assisted the guilty
ones to hide the evidences of their crime.
"Then you was in it!" the fat boy exclaimed.
"Now don't be a fool! I carried a bag for some men this morning, but
that's all I know about it. Who was the murdered man?"
"It's all in that paper Sankey left in his overcoat pocket. Get it an'
you have the whole story. I wonder why they don't put you in jail?"
Before Jet could reply to this question he was ordered to the desk, and
from there sent to answer a call from the Union Square Hotel.
Evidently it was not one of the regular patrons of the house who had
summoned him.
He found a gentlemanly looking party standing just outside the clerk's
desk, who appeared particularly pleased on observing the number on his
cap.
"I want you to go with me to Yonkers, and bring back certain papers
which must be delivered before six o'clock. Can you go so far?"
"I will run over to the office and find out. You see I haven't been on
the force very long, and don't know exactly what to do when the work
will keep me so long away."
"Very well, hurry as fast as possible, for I want to leave here by the
next train."
Jet ran swiftly back, and in a very few moments returned with the
information that he was at liberty to go wherever the gentleman
desired, so long as the office received the regular price per hour for
his services.
"There won't be any difficulty about that. You are to go to pier 466
North River, and wait there until I come. Don't stop on the way, for I
shall probably ride down."
"I thought we were going on the cars."
"I changed my mind while you were away. We can get there just as
quickly by boat. Hurry off, for I don't want to be kept waiting."
Jet left the hotel at once, wondering why the gentleman did not give
him a car fare if the business demanded so much speed, and on his way
to the pier he heard the news-boys crying the particulars of the
"Terrible tragedy on East Twentieth Street."
"I'll see what the story is," Jet said to himself as he bought one of
the papers, but he did not stop to read then lest he should arrive at
the rendezvous too late.
The gentleman was waiting for him on his arrival, but did not express
any anxiety to start for Yonkers immediately.
"You can go up to my room and help me stow away some baggage," he said,
glancing around as if to make certain they were not observed.
"Ain't this the Albany boat?"
"Yes; but I reckon there's nothing to prevent our getting out at
Yonkers."
"I didn't know she stopped there."
"You will probably have time to learn several things before you're many
years older."
"But this steamer doesn't leave till night."
"I've made another change in my plans, and it doesn't concern you since
a messenger's duty is to follow as long as he is paid for his services."
This was said in such an angry tone that Jet held his peace lest he
should give further offense, but at the same time the whole affair was
beginning, in his mind, to assume a very mysterious aspect.
The man motioned for him to walk by his side, and led the way through
the main saloon to a state-room forward, where, through the half-opened
door. Jet failed to see the baggage which had been spoken of as
needing "stowing."
"Go in," the stranger said impatiently, pushing Jet into the apartment,
and following him.
Then the door was locked, and the man carefully fastened both the
shutter and window.
Now the messenger was alarmed, and turned toward the door with upraised
fist as if to pound for assistance, when a hand was placed roughly over
his mouth.
"Don't try any such game as that or there'll be trouble, you young
cub," the man whispered, and almost before Jet knew what was being done
a hard substance had been forced into his mouth and fastened there by a
towel tied around his head.
That he was a victim of foul play the young messenger could have no
doubt, and he struggled with all his strength to free himself, but in
vain.
The stranger took from his pocket several lengths of stout rope, bound
first Jet's hands and then his feet, after which he threw him roughly
into one of the berths.
"I reckon you'll lay there without making very much fuss, till I get
ready to let you go," he said, as he treated himself to a long draught
from a black flask. "When we do land at Yonkers, you can go back to
Police Headquarters once more."
The latter remark caused Jet to associate this adventure with the one
he had had in the morning, and after looking intently at the stranger
his suspicions became a certainty.
"This is the short fellow who got me to carry the valise!" he said to
himself. "They know about my goin' to see the inspector, and are bound
to get me out of the way."
The idea that his captor was a cold-blooded murderer, who probably
would not hesitate to add another to his list of crimes, was far from
reassuring, and the perspiration burst out on Jet's face as he thus
persuaded himself he was in immediate danger of a violent death.