“Hilton Field,
“Banker, New York City.”
“His son!” exclaimed Nick; “I never knew he had a son.”
“Nor me either, until I got that; although I have long known Wilbur,” remarked Jack. “He is a promising bird, and if I was his guvnor, I’d be proud of him.”
“And is he one of this infernal gang?”
“Well, he is and he isn’t,” replied Tambourine. “You can bet it was him that put up the job to have the old duck eloped with.”
“Poor Mignon!” thought Nick; “if she but knew who was her father’s jailer it would break her heart.”
“I know where the old gent is,” continued Jack, “even if I didn’t see him. They have him in a room in the garret that has no windows to it. I don’t know how Crackers got to him, but he did, that’s certain.”
“How many men are there?” the detective asked.
“Too many for you,” replied Tambourine. “There were only four there until up to midnight last night, and then two others came along. They were strangers to me, but Wilbur and Rusty Owens seemed to know them. Talking about Rusty—there seems to be bad blood ’twixt him and Skip, and I shouldn’t wonder if they would have it out before morning. They have been growling all day.”