Then he turned to the huddled figure of the man on the couch.
“Did you hear any disturbance here to-night? We’re looking for a boy who entered the place next door and has vanished.”
“Ugh-ugh-ugh,” and Jake Rook was shaken by what seemed to be a paroxysm of coughing, “if he’s in the next house, why don’t you look there?”
“We have, but there’s no trace of him,” burst out Tom; “are you quite sure you’ve heard nothing unusual?”
“Ugh-ugh. Oh, my poor lungs! Not a thing, my boy, not a thing. Ugh-ugh—is that all you want to know?”
“I guess that’s all,” said one of the policemen. Turning to Tom, he continued: “Are you quite sure he went in next door?”
“Yes, oh, yes, I’m certain of it. I’d know the house by those peculiarly shaped lower windows. Oh, what can have become of him?”
“Well, he’s not here, that’s certain,” said one of the policemen and, with Tom in despair at the disappearance of Jack, they bade the seeming sick man a gruff good-night and left the room. But Jake Rook did not arise immediately. Instead, he lay very still till he was sure that the police had visited the other dwellers in the rookery. Then he sprang from the bed and hastened to the panel. In a second he flung it open and released Radcliff.
“Phew!” panted that worthy, as he stepped out into the room, followed by Ralph, who looked more woebegone than ever, “it’s like a furnace in there. I don’t think we could have stood it much longer.”
Ralph, who felt sick and dizzy from his confinement in the stuffy hole, reeled over to the cot and sank down on it wearily, while the two men once more lifted Jack across the room. His body was limp, and his face still white and deathlike. Jake Rook gave a startled look at him.