BOB AND HERBERT MEET.
"Well, I can't understand it," said Felix, as he and the old fence came
up from the cellar. "He certainly isn't down there."
"No, he ain't here, that's sure," replied Gunwagner; "but if it was the
newsboy, you can be sure he will show up again in a way not very good
for us."
"So I think," assented Mortimer.
"Then we must capture him, that's all."
"I wish we could. You see he might go to old Goldwin again, and tell him
he saw me here."
"Yes, or go to the police headquarters and raise a row," suggested
Gunwagner, gloomily.
"I didn't think of that. Well, as you say, the only thing for us to do
is to capture him and get him where he won't make trouble for us."
"The whole game will be lost, and we will be pulled by the police unless
we do so."
"You might's well count your game lost, then," said Bob to himself,
for he had now renewed hope of carrying through his scheme. But he was
nearly paralyzed with pain, from the cramped and uncomfortable position
in which he had remained so long. He felt, however, that he was doing a
great detective act, so he bore up under his sufferings with heroic
fortitude.
"Suppose the police should drop on us, and find Randolph in the cellar?"
suggested young Mortimer.
The thought evidently alarmed old Gunwagner. His face and whole manner
showed that it did.
"If they should do that, we would go to Sing Sing," returned he, grimly.
Felix Mortimer possessed an extremely cool nerve, but the words "Sing
Sing" did not fall upon his ears like sweet music.
"I wish we could get him out of the way," said he, with manifest
anxiety. "It must be done tomorrow."
"There's no time to lose, I feel sure. But what shall be done with him?"
"He must be put where he will never blow on us."
"Of course he must."
"It's a bad job--a dirty, bad job--that's what I call it. I only wish
you'd kept away from me with your devilish scheme," said the old
villain, petulantly.
"It's no time to talk about that now," returned Mortimer, coolly. "You
are in for it as well as I, so we must work together."
"We must, must we?" hissed the old man, wickedly.
"Yes," said Mortimer, with a determined manner, that made the old outlaw
cower and cringe. Felix Mortimer possessed the stronger character of the
two, and, now he was aroused, Gunwagner was subservient to his will.
"Unless you show yourself a man now, I will leave you to fight it out
alone," continued Felix. "I can take care of myself. Randolph is on your
hands, and here the police will find him."
Low, profane mutterings from the old culprit's mouth now filled the air.
He was cornered, and Mortimer had him at his mercy. Gunwagner saw this
now, and commenced planning to get our young hero out of the way.
An exceedingly interesting conversation this proved to the young
detective, who carefully gathered in every word.
"Something is liable to drop with you fellers before long," said he to
himself. "This detective business is mighty excitin', if it's all like
this is. I wonder what Tom Flannery would say now, if he could take this
all in the same way I'm doin' it!"
"I s'pose we can run him off to sea," said Gunwagner, at length. "That's
the only way I know of to get him out of the way."
"Then why not do that?" replied Mortimer.
"It will cost a lot of money."
"Better pay out the money than go to Sing Sing."
The old fence looked daggers at the author of this remark, but evidently
thought it best to make no direct reply.
"I wish we could get him away tonight," continued young Mortimer, in a
way that exasperated Gunwagner.
"Well, you're mighty liable to be accommodated," thought Bob, as a broad
grin played over his face, despite the suffering he was enduring. "I'm
goin' to take a hand in this business myself, and I'll try my best to
help you fellers through with this job."
"No, it can't be done tonight," said the old fence, gruffly; "but I'll
see what can be done tomorrow."
"Fix it so he will never get back here to New York again," said
Mortimer, heartlessly.
"Of course; that's the only thing to do."
"Remember, there is no time to lose, for if we get tripped up here, the
whole game will be up at the bank, and all our trouble will come to
nothing."
"I understand that; but you have said nothing about the outlook at the
bank."
"I have had no chance. Some one has been here all the evening."
"You have the chance now."
"So I have; but there is nothing to say yet. You don't expect me to rob
a bank in one day, do you?"
"No, of course not; but what are the chances for carrying out the
scheme?"
"Ah, ha!" said the young detective to himself; "bank robbing, is it?
That's the scheme. Well, this detective business beats me. I guess
nobody don't often get a more excitin' case than this one is--that's
what I think."
After a little further discussion between the two crooks, Mortimer left
the den and started for home. Bob suspected that he felt very happy to
get away from there; and Bob was quite right, for, as a matter of fact,
the young scoundrel had become so alarmed over the prospect, that he
felt very uneasy about remaining a minute longer than was absolutely
necessary. When he had gone, the old fence closed and bolted the doors,
and then passed into a rear room, where he retired to his bed.
When all had been quiet for perhaps the space of fifteen or twenty
minutes, the young detective crawled out of his box and straightened
himself out. He had, however, been cramped up so long that this was not
so easily done. But matters of so great moment were before him now, that
he could not think of aches and pains. He learned about the location of
the trap door, when the old fence and young Mortimer went into the
cellar to look for him.
On his hands and knees Bob cautiously proceeded, searching on either
side of him for the door. It was so dark that he could see nothing, and
as the room was filled with chairs, old boxes, and so on, he found it no
easy matter to navigate under such circumstances, especially as he knew
that the slightest noise would prove fatal to his scheme.
At length his hand rested upon the fastening of the trap door, and to
his horror he found it locked. If the room had seemed dark before to the
young detective, it was now most oppressively black. What to do, which
way to turn, he did not know. The doors leading to the street were
locked, he had no keys about him, and no means of producing a light.
"This is the worst go I've struck yet," said Bob to himself, as he
meditated over his situation. "Jest as I thought everything was all
fixed, this blamed old lock knocks me out. Well, I've pulled through
pretty good so far, and I won't give it up yet. I may strike an idea,"
he continued, undismayed, and then commenced prowling stealthily about
the room, in search of something--anything that would serve his purpose.
He thought if he could find the key to the hall door he would try to
make his escape from the building; and, once out, he could get matches,
and whatever else he needed to aid him in carrying out his scheme to a
grand success. But he was no more fortunate in this effort than he had
been in hunting for the key to the trap door.
He searched, too, every nook and corner for a match, but failed utterly
to find one, or anything to keep his courage good. The situation began
to look alarming to him. He was now as much a prisoner as Herbert
Randolph.
"I wonder what Tom Flannery would do if he was in my place?" mused
the young detective, as he sat upon the floor, somewhat depressed in
spirits. "I think he'd just lay down and bawl and throw up the whole
game, that's what Tom Flannery would do. But I ain't goin' to throw up
no game till it's lost, not ef Bob Hunter knows himself. There ain't but
one thing to do now, and that's to go into old Gunwagner's bedroom, and
take them keys outer his pocket, that's what I think. Ef he was to
wake up, tho', and catch me at it--well, I guess I wouldn't be in the
detective business no more. But--what's that noise?" said he to himself,
suddenly becoming aware of a strange sound.
Our young detective felt a cold chill creep over him. His first thought
was that the old fence was coming into his presence, and would of course
capture him and punish him most inhumanly. But as the slight noise
continued, and Gunwagner did not appear, Bob took courage, and listened
keenly for developments. Presently the sound came nearer, and now a
gleam of light shone up through a crack in the floor.
"Can it be Vermont?" said Bob to himself, hardly believing his own eyes.
Still nearer came the light.
"He is climbing the stairs, as sure's I'm alive," said Bob, almost
overcome with joy.
In the trap door was a small knot hole, about an inch and a half in
diameter. Through this opening the light now shone distinctly, and it
was most welcome to the eyes of our young detective. A pressure was now
brought to bear upon the door from the under side, but it only yielded
so far as the fastening would allow.
"Is that you, Vermont?" whispered Bob through the knot hole.
No answer was given.
Herbert Randolph had never considered himself in any degree
superstitious. But what could this be but Bob Hunter's spirit?
"Don't be afraid," said the young detective, who imagined Herbert would
find it difficult to realize that he was there. "It's Bob Hunter. I
ain't got no card with me, or I'd send it down to you."
This remark sounded so much like Bob that young Randolph no longer
doubted his own senses.
"Bob Hunter!" exclaimed he. "How in the world came you here, and what
are you doing?"
"Yes, it's me, Vermont. But don't stop to ask no questions now. I'm here
to help you get out, but this blamed old door is locked, and I hain't
got no key, nor no light, nor nothin'."
After exchanging a few words, Herbert took from his pocket a piece of
paper. This he made into a taper, which he lighted and passed up through
the knot hole to Bob. With this the latter lighted the gas; and now he
felt that he was in a position to be of some service to his friend.
A careful search failed to reveal any keys. Then the two boys discussed
the situation, and presently Herbert passed a bent nail to the young
detective, and instructed him how to operate on the lock, which speedily
yielded to the boy's efforts. In another instant the trap door was
thrown up, and, by a most unfortunate blunder, it fell back with a
tremendous crash.
Herbert, however, emerged quickly from his cold, damp prison, with a
look of consternation pictured upon his face. Both he and Bob knew that
old Gunwagner would be upon them in less than a minute, and they hastily
prepared to defend themselves.