"Then you have not been arrested," said my father.
"No; but I was kept a prisoner by these scoundrels."
"We must attend to them," added Mr. Rockwood, consulting his watch.
"Dear me! there is the door-bell again!" exclaimed Mrs. Greenough. "Who can it be at this time of night!"
"It is only half past nine," added the planter, as I took a light to answer the bell. "I think Mrs. Greenough had better go to the door, for I don't believe these scoundrels will be satisfied with sixty-five dollars."
At this suggestion Mrs. Greenough answered the summons, and soon returned with another note—from me! I opened it, and read that I had been arrested in connection with the claim of Morgan Blair, and that when the police sergeant heard there was a note, which represented the property claimed, in my possession, he thought it was better to have it deposited with the chief of police for safe keeping.
"These fellows evidently think you have not yet returned to your home, Phil," said Mr. Rockwood.
"I don't blame them much for thinking so, for I expected to stay on those roofs all night; and I think I should if you had not been so wise as to put a hotel in the block," I replied.
"The man asked if Phil was at home before he gave me the note," said the landlady, "and I evaded the question."
"What shall we do?" asked my father, raising himself in the bed.