Opening a shabby but strong trunk—it was the sort of iron-bound thing, built to stand rough usage, which is known as a “theatrical trunk”—he took out a newspaper.
The paper was folded small, so that one particular paragraph was turned outward. The paper was old and dirty, bearing marks of much handling. It was not easy to make out the print, but Stokes had read it before, and he managed to read it without trouble:
“If this should meet the eye of H.M., late of Westchester and New York, he is urgently requested to return home. His father is dead, and he is the heir to the estate.”
Joe Stokes sat on the side of his bed and considered: “‘H.M.’ means ‘Howard Milmarsh,’ of course. It must, for see how the description fits him. And there is five thousand dollars reward for anybody who finds the young man, or gives satisfactory proof of his death. ‘Communications should be sent to Johnson, Robertson & Judkins, attorneys at law, Pine Street, New York,’” he read, from the advertisement. “Good!”
He considered for some minutes. Then he muttered slowly:
“The worst of it is that I’m afraid to go to New York. If the police were to know I was there, it would be the Tombs for mine, and a trip up the river for a few years afterward. I’ll have to think this out.”
He lighted an old pipe, with strong tobacco, and composed himself to study out the problem of getting hold of the five thousand dollars without giving the police a chance to get hold of himself.
CHAPTER VI.
DOOR AND WINDOW.
While Joe Stokes sat in his room and studied, two other persons were in conference in the room immediately below his own.