BOB ASSUMES A DISGUISE.
At the close of business hours, Felix Mortimer sauntered up Broadway
with something of an air of triumph about him. His jaw was still
swollen, and doubtless pained him not a little.
Another boy passed up Broadway at the same time, and only a little way
behind Mortimer.
It was Bob Hunter, and he managed to keep the same distance between
himself and young Mortimer, whom, in fact, he was "shadowing." Of
course, Mortimer knew nothing of this. In fact, he did not know such a
boy as Bob Hunter existed.
At the post office Felix Mortimer turned into Park Row. He stopped and
read the bulletins at the _Mail and Express_ office. Then he bought an
evening paper, and, standing on the steps of the _World_ office, looked
it over hastily.
Now he moved on up Publishers' Row, passing the _Times_, the _Tribune_,
and the _Sun_ buildings, and walked along Chatham Street. Presently he
emerged into the Bowery. Now he walked more rapidly than he had been
doing, so that Bob had to quicken his pace to keep him in sight.
At the corner of Pell Street and the Bowery he met a young man who
seemed to be waiting for him.
"I've been hanging round here for 'most half an hour," said he, as if
displeased.
"I'm here on time," replied Felix; "just half past five. Come, let's
have a glass of beer."
Peter Smartweed was the name of this young fellow, as Bob afterwards
found out.
When Felix and his friend passed into the drinking saloon, Bob followed
them as far as the door; then he turned back, and sought the disguise of
a bootblack.
A young knight of the brush stood near by, with his blacking box slung
over his shoulder. Bob arranged with him for the use of it for a few
moments, promising to pay over to him all the proceeds he made thereby.
He also exchanged his own hat for the cap the boy had on, and, with this
head gear pulled down over the left side of his face, the appearance
of Bob Hunter was much changed. His accustomed step, quick, firm, and
expressive, was changed to that of the nerveless, aimless boy--a sort of
shuffle.
Thus disguised, he approached Felix Mortimer and his companion, who were
sitting at a table with a partially filled schooner of beer before each
of them.
"Shine? shine, boss?" said Bob, in a strange voice.
No response was made by the convivial youths.
"Two for five!" continued Bob, persistently. "Two reg'lar patent
leathers for only five cents!"
Peter looked at his boots. They were muddy. Then he argued with himself
that Felix had paid for the beer, so it seemed to him that he could not
even up the score in any less expensive way than by paying for the
shines.
"Do you mean you will give us both a shine for five cents?" said Peter.
"Yes," drawled Bob, lazily.
"Well, see that they are good ones, now, or I'll not pay you a cent."
Bob commenced work on the shoes very leisurely. He seemed the embodiment
of stupidity, and blundered along in every way possible to prolong the
time.
"How would you like to climb down, Mort, and shine shoes for a living?"
said Peter Smartweed, jokingly.
"Perhaps I wouldn't mind it if I was stupid as the kid fumbling around
your shoes seems to be," replied Felix, in a more serious mood than his
companion.
[Illustration: BOB HUNTER PLAYS THE DETECTIVE.]
"Well, I think you looked even more stupid than this young Arab last
night, when you lay upon the floor."
"Well, I guess you would have felt stupid, too, if you had got such a
clip as I did," retorted Felix, as he nursed his swollen jaw with his
hand.
"It was a stunning blow, for a fact. John L. Sullivan couldn't have done
it neater. I didn't think, Mort, that that young countryman could hit
such a clip, did you?"
"No, I didn't; and I'm mighty sure you don't realize now what a stinging
blow he hit me. You talk about it as if it didn't amount to much. Well,
all I've got to say is, I don't want to see you mauled so, but I wish
you knew how good it felt to be floored the way I was."
"No, thank you," said Peter; "I don't want any of it. But you looked so
comical, as you fell sprawling, that I couldn't help laughing. I believe
I would have laughed if you had been killed."
Bob Hunter's ears were now wide open.
"I couldn't see anything to laugh about," said Felix, bitterly.
"That isn't very strange, either. You naturally wouldn't, under the
circumstances," laughed young Smartweed.
"Come, now, let up," said Felix. "Your turn may come."
"I expect it will, if this young farmer ever gets after me."
"But you don't expect him to get out, do you?"
"I hadn't thought much about it. My part of the programme was to get him
into old Gunwagner's den, and I did it without any accident."
Felix looked hard at his companion. He knew the last part of this
sentence was a sarcastic thrust at him.
Bob grew excited, and found it difficult to restrain himself. He felt
certain now that these two young villains were talking about his friend
Herbert Randolph.
"No accident would have happened to me, either, if he hadn't hit me
unawares," protested young Mortimer, with a bit of sourness about his
manner. "I allow I could get away with him in a fair fight."
"Oh, no, you couldn't, Mort; he is too much for you. I could see that in
a minute, by the way he handled himself."
Young Mortimer's face flushed. He didn't like the comparison.
"Well, he won't bother me again very soon," said he, vindictively.
"Didn't they tumble to anything crooked at the bank?" asked Peter, after
a few moments' serious thought.
"No."
"I don't see why. The circumstances look suspicious."
"Well, they didn't suspect the truth."
"You're in luck, then, that is all I have to say."
"I shall be, you mean, when we get him out of the way."
"He seems to be pretty well out of your way now."
"But that won't last forever. He must be got out of New York, that's
all. Old Gunwagner will not keep him round very long, you may be sure of
that."
"You don't know how to shine a shoe," growled Smartweed to our young
detective. "See the blacking you have put on the upper! Wipe it off, I
say; at once, too."
Bob's blood boiled with indignation, and he was about to reply sharply,
when he remembered that he was now acting the detective, and so he said:
"All right, boss; I'll fix it fer yer;" and he removed the superfluous
blacking with great care. There was no longer any doubt in his mind
about Herbert being a prisoner. He was satisfied that his friend was in
the clutches of old Gunwagner, and he knew from the conversation that he
was in danger of being lost forever to New York and to his friends.
The situation was an alarming one. Bob pictured vividly the worst
possibilities of our hero's fate.
Presently, after young Smartweed had lighted a cigarette and taken a few
puffs, he said, absentmindedly:
"So you are going to send him away from New York?"
"Of course, you don't s'pose we would be very safe with him here, do
you?" replied Mortimer.
"Safe enough, so long as he is in old Gunwagner's cell. But what is to
be done with him? Send him back to Vermont?"
"Not much; he won't go there unless he escapes."
"It's rough on the fellow, Mort, to run him off to sea, or to make him a
prisoner in the bottom of a coal barge or canal boat. But that is what
he is likely to get from that old shark," said Peter Smartweed, meaning
Gunwagner.
"Don't you get soft hearted now," replied Felix, in a hard voice.
"I'm not soft hearted, Mort, and you know it, but I don't like this
business, any way."
"What did you go into it for, then?"
"What do we do anything for? I thought, from what you said, that he was
a coarse young countryman. But he don't seem like it. In fact I believe
he is too nice a fellow to be ruined for life."
"Perhaps you'd better get him out then," said Mortimer, sarcastically.
"You talk like a fool," replied Smartweed, testily.
"So do you," retorted his companion, firing up; and he nursed his aching
jaw as if to lend emphasis to his remarks. These explosions suddenly
ended the discussion, and as soon as their shoes were polished, the two
young villains left the saloon. Mortimer turned up the Bowery, and
Smartweed passed into a side street leading towards Broadway.
Bob readily dropped his assumed character of bootblack, and quickly
started in pursuit of Felix Mortimer.
The latter went directly home, where he remained for nearly an hour. At
the end of this time, he emerged from the house, much to the young
detective's relief. He had waited outside all this time, patiently
watching for Felix's reappearance.
Though cold and hungry, Bob could not afford to give up the chase long
enough even to get a bit of lunch. He had made wonderful progress so far
in his detective work, and he felt, as he had a right to feel, highly
elated over his discoveries.
Now he was shadowing young Mortimer again. Down the Bowery they went
till they came to a side street in a disreputable locality. Here they
turned towards the East River, and presently Felix Mortimer left the
sidewalk and disappeared within the door of an old building.
"So this is Gunwagner's, is it?" said Bob to himself. "At least I s'pose
'tis, from what them fellers said--Gunwagner--yes, that's the name.
Well, this may not be it, but I'm pretty sure it is," he continued,
reasoning over the problem.
After fixing the house and its locality securely in his mind, and after
having waited till he satisfied himself that Mortimer intended remaining
there for a time, he made a lively trip to City Hall Park, where he
joined young Flannery.
"Well, Bob, have you struck anything?" said Tom, instantly, and with
much more than a passing interest.
"Yes; I've struck it rich--reg'lar detective style, I tell you, Tom,"
said Bob, with pride and enthusiasm. And then he briefly related all his
discoveries.
"Nobody could er worked the business like you, Bob," said Tom,
admiringly.
"Well, I did throw a little style into it, I think myself," replied
Bob. "But," he continued, "there's no time now for talking the matter
over. We've got some work to do. I've got the place located, and I want
you to go with me now, and see what we can do."
Within five minutes the two boys were on their way to Christopher
Gunwagner's, and as they passed hurriedly along the streets they formed
a hasty plan for immediate action--a plan cunningly devised for
outwitting this miserable old fence and his villainous companions.