Bob related the story of Herbert’s experience at the bank, on the morning when he secured the position.
“I don’t like that duffer—what d’ye call him?”
“Felix Mortimer,” repeated Bob. “I’m sure that’s the name Herbert give me.”
“Well, I’ll bet that he’s put up the job.”
“I think so myself. You see he knew Randolph wasn’t no city chap.”
“That’s so, and he knew he’d have the drop on him. But I don’t just see, after all, how he could get away with him.”
“Well, he might have run him into some den or other.”
“And drugged him?”
“Well, perhaps so. There are piles of ways them fellers have of doin’ such jobs.”
“I know they’re kinder slick about it sometimes. But, say, Bob,” continued Tom, earnestly, “what do you propose to do about it? He may be a prisoner.”