“Richard Goldwin’s bank, I suppose,” replied young Randolph, almost dazed at the audacity of the villains.
“Yes, that was their game in getting you out of the way.”
“I didn’t think of that before.”
“Well, you hain’t been in New York very long, and so you don’t know the way they do things here—them that is bad, like this gang.”
“How did you find out where I was, and how in the world did you manage to get in here without being seen?”
“Well, you see, I was a detective,” said Bob, with a show of pride.
“A detective!” exclaimed the young Vermonter, looking at his friend with the innocent wonder of a country boy.
“Yes, but I hain’t got no time to tell you about it now. We must be movin’, you see.”
“So we must,” replied Herbert.
Doubtless old Gunwagner, too, would have liked much to hear Bob relate how he discovered his friend’s prison. But even this small satisfaction was denied him.