“There won’t no grass grow under my feet,” said Will, setting his cap jauntily. “Not on the Philadelfy pavement, anyhow.”
“Come with me into the basement, Mr. Johnson,” said the merchant. “I wish to take a look around.”
The basement was a long, dimly-lighted room, broken here and there by iron columns which sustained the upper floors. It was well filled with cases of goods, all of which had been opened and covered again to preserve them from dampness, though the room was thoroughly dry.
The long underground apartment was closely examined, and a smaller, dark, sub-cellar, as well. Nothing was discovered. Everything appeared to be in its usual state. The windows and doors had not been disturbed. The mystery of the loss of the three pieces of cloth deepened.
The lower cellar was devoted to coal, empty cases and various occasional necessaries. Its darkened walls were well cobwebbed. Its narrow apertures for light could scarcely have admitted a rat.
Mr. Leonard returned to his office in deep perplexity and concern.
CHAPTER VIII.
TWO LOVERS.
It was at a later hour that same day that our young friend, Willful Will, met unexpectedly with Miss Arlington, the lady whose acquaintance he had made the previous day.
She was walking quietly along Seventh street, a little frequented avenue, and seemed as if expecting some one. There were indications of a slight petulance at his or her failure to appear.