"We saw you when you went into Gunwagner's--saw the package in your hand, and know the whole game," continued Bob. "Now, if you will help us put up a job, why, we will let you off; but if you don't come down square and do the right thing, why, we will jest run you in, and you'll get a couple of years or more on the Island. Now what do you say?"

"What do you want me to do?" sobbed the small boy, trembling with fear.

"I want you to go back with us, and take me into Gunwagner's."

Tom was an interested listener, for he knew nothing about Bob's plans or purposes.

From further questionings, and many threats, our detectives found that a number of boys were in the habit of taking stolen goods to this miserable old fence. The number mixed up in the affair Bob did not learn, but he ascertained the fact that Felix Mortimer had often been seen there by this lad.

"Now me and Tom are doin' the detective business," said the chief; "and if you want to be a detective with us, you can join right in."

"I want to go home," sobbed the boy.

"Well, you can't, not now," said Bob, emphatically. "We hain't got no time for nonsense. You've either got to go along with me and Tom, and help us, or we will run you in. Now which will you do?"

The boy yielded to the eloquence of the chief detective, and accompanied him and Tom back to old Gunwagner's. The boldness of this move captured young Flannery's admiration.

"Now this is what I call bein' detectives, Bob," whispered he.

"Gewhittaker, I didn't think, though, you could do it so grand. I don't believe n.o.body could beat you."

Bob nodded his approval of the compliment, and then addressed himself to the young lad.

"I want you," said he, "to take me in and say I'm a friend of yours who wants to sell somethin'. You needn't do nothin' more. Every detective puts up jobs like this, so 'tain't tellin' nothin' wrong."

Then, turning to his companion, he added:

"Now, Tom, if this boy ain't square, and he does anything so I get into Gunwagner's clutches, and can't get out, why I want you to go for an officer, and come and arrest this boy and the whole gang."

The lad trembled. "I won't do nothin'," he protested. "I'll do just what you want me to."

"All right; you do so, and you'll save yourself a visit to the Island.

Now, when I am talking with old Gunwagner, if I tell you to come outside and get the package I left at the door, why, you come jest as if I did have it there, and you come right straight for Tom, and he will tell you what to do. And mind you be sure and don't close the outside door, for I want you to leave it so you and Tom can get in without ringing the bell, for that's the secret of the whole job."

The boy readily a.s.sented to Bob's conditions and commands, and then the chief gave his companion secret instructions, to be acted upon after he himself had gone into the very den of the old fence.

CHAPTER XIII.

A TERRIBLE FEAR.

It was towards morning when Herbert Randolph fell asleep on the night of his imprisonment. He had fought manfully to keep awake, dreading the consequences of slumber, but tired nature gave way at last, and our young hero slept, unconscious now of danger.

The rats that he so much feared still frolicked, and prowled, and gnawed, as they had done for hours. They climbed upon boxes and barrels, and made their way into every corner and crevice. Everything was inspected by them.

More inquisitive rats than these never infested the metropolis. Now they went in droves, and scampered from place to place like a flock of frightened sheep. Then they strayed apart and prowled for a time alone.

An occasional fight came off by way of variety, and in these battles the vanquished, and perhaps their supporters, often squealed like so many young pigs.

Thus the carousal continued hour after hour, and that old Gunwagner cellar was for the time a diminutive bedlam. Our young hero, nevertheless, slept on and on, unconscious of this racket.

After a while the rats grew bolder. Their curiosity became greater, and then they began to investigate more carefully the state of things within the prison cell, and at length their attention was turned to the quiet sleeper.

Well bred rats are always cautious, and therefore are somewhat respectful, but the drove at old Gunwagner's did not show this desirable trait. In fact they were not unlike the old fence himself--daring, avaricious and discourteous. No better proof of this could be instanced than their disreputable treatment of our young hero.

Rats, as a rule, show a special fondness for leather. Undoubtedly it is palatable to them. But this fact would not justify them in the attempt they made to appropriate to themselves Herbert's boots. The propriety of such an act was most questionable, and no well mannered rats would have allowed themselves to become a party to such a raid. But as a matter of fact, and as Herbert learned to his sorrow, there were no well mannered rats at old Gunwagner's--none but a thieving, quarrelsome lot.

After a council of war had been held, and a great amount of reconnoitering had been done, it was decided that these rural boots could not be removed from their rightful owner in their present shape; therefore they fell vigorously to work to reduce them to a more movable condition.

When Herbert fell asleep, he was sitting on a bench with his feet upon the floor. He was still in this position, with his head resting in his hand, and his elbow supported by the side of his prison cell, when the rats made war on his boots. They gnawed and chipped away at them at a lively rate, and in a little time the uppers were entirely destroyed.

The cotton linings, to be sure, were still intact, as these they did not trouble. Evidently cotton cloth was not a tempting diet for them.

Up to this time Herbert had not moved a muscle since he fell asleep, but now a troubled dream or something else, I know not what, disturbed him. Possibly it was the continued gnawing on his already shattered boots. It might, however, have been the fear of these dreadful rats, or the repulsive image of old Gunwagner, that haunted him and broke the soundness of his slumbers.

Presently he opened his eyes, drowsily, and his first half waking impression was the peculiar sensation at his feet. In another instant a full realization of the cause of this feeling darted into his mind, and with a pitiful cry of terror he bounded into the air like a frightened deer. And to add to the horror of his situation, in descending his right foot came down squarely upon one of the rats, which emitted a strange cry, a sort of squeal, that sent a thrill throughout every nerve of our hero's body.

A second leap brought him standing upon the bench upon which he had been sitting.

If ever a boy had good reason to be frightened, it was Herbert Randolph.

His situation was one to drive men mad--in that dark, damp cellar, thus surrounded and beset by this countless horde of rats. The cold perspiration stood out upon him, and he trembled with an uncontrollable fear.

Something was wrong with his feet. He knew that, for his shoes now barely hung upon them. To what extent the rats had gone he dreaded to know. Already he could feel his feet smart and burn in a peculiar manner. Had they received poisonous bites, he asked himself? The mere suggestion of such a condition to one in his frightened state of mind was quite as bad, for the time, as actual wounds would have been.

A rat isn't very good company at any time. Under the most favorable conditions his presence has a tendency to send people upon chairs or the nearest table, and not infrequently they do this little act with a whoop that would do credit to a genuine frontier Indian. When, therefore, we consider this fact, it is not difficult to realize the alarming situation in which our young hero was, and but for the timely sound of footsteps overhead it is impossible to predict what might have been the result of this terrible mental strain on him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SUDDENLY REALIZING HIS HORRIBLE SITUATION, HERBERT SPRANG UPON THE BENCH WITH A PITIFUL CRY OF TERROR.]

The night had worn away, the old fence was again on the move, and Herbert's piercing cry brought him to the room over the cell. No sooner had our young friend heard this sound above his head than he appealed for help. So alarming were his cries that even old Gunwagner was at length moved to go to his a.s.sistance. He retraced his steps to the front of the house, and, taking a lighted lamp with him, pa.s.sed down through the trap door, and then made his way into the rear cellar to Herbert's cell.

Never before in his life had the presence of a human being been so welcome as was that of Gunwagner to our frightened hero. What a relief to this oppressive darkness was that small lamp light, and how quickly it drove all the rats into their hiding places.

"What's all this row about?" growled the old fence.

"These rats," gasped Herbert, with a strange, wild look; "see, they have bitten me," pointing to his boots, or what remained of them.

Gunwagner's heart softened a trifle as he beheld the boy's sufferings, and saw how he had been a.s.sailed.

"Are you sure they have bit you?" said he, uneasily.

"Look! see!" replied Herbert, holding out the worst mutilated boot. He fully believed he had been bitten, though, as a matter of fact, he had not.

The old fence became alarmed, fearing the annoyance and possible danger that might follow; but when he had satisfied himself by a careful examination that young Randolph had sustained no injuries, he speedily changed back to his old hard manner again--a cold, cruel manner that showed no mercy.

Herbert begged to be released from his prison pen, but his pleadings were of no avail.

"Why are you treating me in this inhuman way?" asked he. "What have I done that I should be shut up here by you?"

Old Gunwagner looked hard at him, but made no reply.