ROY IS MISSING
Shortly after this incident, approaching the clerk at the hotel desk
where he had engaged a room near Roy's, Mr. Wakely, seeming much
concerned, said:
"My friend, Mr. Bradner, has been taken suddenly ill. I think I shall
take him to my doctor's. Will you call me a cab?"
"Why don't you have the hotel doctor look at him?" suggested the clerk,
who had taken a liking to the boy from the ranch. The clerk did not
exactly like the ways of Mr. Wakely, who had only taken a room at the
hotel a day or so before.
"Oh, I don't like to trust a strange doctor. I think my physician can
fix him up. He is in need of rest, more than anything else. The
strenuous life of the city, after his quiet days on the ranch has been
too much for him."
"He looked strong and hearty," replied the clerk. "He told me he used
to rope wild steers. I should think he could stand it here. He hasn't
been going around much."
"Still I think I shall take him away," went on Mr. Wakely. "Please
call me a cab. I believe I'll take his baggage with me. I'll settle
for his bill."
"There's nothing to settle. Mr. Bradner paid me this morning for his
board up to the end of the week."
Mr. Wakely looked relieved at this, but said nothing.
The clerk, not exactly liking what was going on, but being unable to
interpose any objections, rung for a cab. Then, under orders from Mr.
Wakely, Roy's baggage was brought down and put into the vehicle.
A little later Roy's new acquaintance came down in the elevator,
supporting the lad with an arm around his shoulders. Roy could hardly
walk, for his legs were trembling, and there was a curious white, dazed
look on his face.
"What's the matter, old chap?" asked the hotel clerk, with ready
sympathy. "Can I do anything for you?"
It seemed as if Roy tried to speak, but only a murmur came from his
lips.
"He'll be all right in a little while," said Mr. Wakely quickly. "He's
a little faint; that's all. I'll look after him."
Somehow the clerk thought Mr. Wakely acted as if he did not want any
one to come too near Roy, or lend any aid. A little later, leading the
boy, who seemed to become weaker, Mr. Wakely got into the cab with him,
and drove on.
"Poor fellow," said the clerk sympathetically. "I hope he gets better.
He certainly is a nice chap, and I wonder what could have made him ill
so suddenly? I don't like that Wakely fellow."
That evening it occurred to Mortimer De Royster that he had not seen
his friend Roy for some time. Not, in fact, since he had parted with
him at the hotel.
"That's beastly impolite on my part, don't you know," said De Royster
to himself. "I must run around and see him. I've been so busy
straightening out my accounts since I came back from my western trip,
that I have neglected all my friends. However, I'll make up for it.
I'll take him to some theatre and give him a good time."
Thus musing, Mortimer De Royster adjusted his one eye glass, selected a
delicately-colored necktie from his rather large stock, and attired
himself to go out and call at Roy's hotel, which he soon reached.
"Good evening, Mortimer," greeted the clerk, who knew De Royster quite
well. "How are you?"
"Feeling very fit, old chap, don't you know," replied De Royster. "How
are you?"
"So-so."
"That's good. Charming evening, isn't it? Charming. I--er--I called
to see my friend, Mr. Bradner. Going to take him out and show him a
bit of New York after dark, don't you know. I have tickets to a very
nice show, and I think he'll like it. I owe a good deal to him, old
man. He's a clever chap. I want to repay him in some way. I'll go up
to his room."
"It's no use."
"No use. Why, my dear fellow, what do you mean?"
"I mean he was taken away--ill--in a cab by a friend of his."
"Who was the friend?"
Mortimer De Royster lost his rather careless manner, and was all
attention.
"A fellow named Wakely. He took rooms here a day or so ago. Made
friends with Mr. Bradner--Roy, I call him, for I feel quite friendly
toward him. Late this afternoon Wakely came to me and said Roy was
sick, and he was going to take him to a doctor."
"And did he?"
"That's what he did. Took his baggage too," and the clerk related what
had taken place.
"What sort of a fellow was this Wakely?" asked De Royster, with
increasing interest.
The clerk described him. The dudish jewelry salesman shook his head.
"I don't recognize him," he said. "What do you think about it? You
saw him."
"I'll tell you what I think," went on the clerk. "I think that fellow
Wakely is up to some game, and I wish Roy had not made his
acquaintance."
"That's just what I believe," exclaimed De Royster. "It seems a queer
thing that Roy should be taken sick so suddenly. Why, he was as
healthy as a young ox. I'll wager there's something wrong. He came
here to New York to expose a man he thought was a swindler, and I
believe the man has him in his power now. I must do something to aid
him."
"What are you going to do?" asked the clerk, as De Royster started out
of the hotel.
"I'm going to try to find the cab driver who took them away, and
perhaps I can trace Roy. If I can't do it that way I'll notify the
police. Roy has been taken away against his will, and maybe they are
keeping him in hiding. I'm going to find him!"
Roused into sudden action by the thought of danger to the lad who had
aided him, Mortimer De Royster hurried out, a look of determination on
his face.