CHAPTER XV.
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.