CHAPTER XV.

BOB AND HERBERT MEET.

"Well, I can't understand it," said Felix, as he and the old fence came up from the cellar. "He certainly isn't down there."

"No, he ain't here, that's sure," replied Gunwagner; "but if it was the newsboy, you can be sure he will show up again in a way not very good for us."

"So I think," a.s.sented Mortimer.

"Then we must capture him, that's all."

"I wish we could. You see he might go to old Goldwin again, and tell him he saw me here."

"Yes, or go to the police headquarters and raise a row," suggested Gunwagner, gloomily.

"I didn't think of that. Well, as you say, the only thing for us to do is to capture him and get him where he won't make trouble for us."

"The whole game will be lost, and we will be pulled by the police unless we do so."

"You might's well count your game lost, then," said Bob to himself, for he had now renewed hope of carrying through his scheme. But he was nearly paralyzed with pain, from the cramped and uncomfortable position in which he had remained so long. He felt, however, that he was doing a great detective act, so he bore up under his sufferings with heroic fort.i.tude.

"Suppose the police should drop on us, and find Randolph in the cellar?"

suggested young Mortimer.

The thought evidently alarmed old Gunwagner. His face and whole manner showed that it did.

"If they should do that, we would go to Sing Sing," returned he, grimly.

Felix Mortimer possessed an extremely cool nerve, but the words "Sing Sing" did not fall upon his ears like sweet music.

"I wish we could get him out of the way," said he, with manifest anxiety. "It must be done tomorrow."

"There's no time to lose, I feel sure. But what shall be done with him?"

"He must be put where he will never blow on us."

"Of course he must."

"It's a bad job--a dirty, bad job--that's what I call it. I only wish you'd kept away from me with your devilish scheme," said the old villain, petulantly.

"It's no time to talk about that now," returned Mortimer, coolly. "You are in for it as well as I, so we must work together."

"We must, must we?" hissed the old man, wickedly.

"Yes," said Mortimer, with a determined manner, that made the old outlaw cower and cringe. Felix Mortimer possessed the stronger character of the two, and, now he was aroused, Gunwagner was subservient to his will.

"Unless you show yourself a man now, I will leave you to fight it out alone," continued Felix. "I can take care of myself. Randolph is on your hands, and here the police will find him."

Low, profane mutterings from the old culprit's mouth now filled the air.

He was cornered, and Mortimer had him at his mercy. Gunwagner saw this now, and commenced planning to get our young hero out of the way.

An exceedingly interesting conversation this proved to the young detective, who carefully gathered in every word.

"Something is liable to drop with you fellers before long," said he to himself. "This detective business is mighty excitin', if it's all like this is. I wonder what Tom Flannery would say now, if he could take this all in the same way I'm doin' it!"

"I s'pose we can run him off to sea," said Gunwagner, at length. "That's the only way I know of to get him out of the way."

"Then why not do that?" replied Mortimer.

"It will cost a lot of money."

"Better pay out the money than go to Sing Sing."

The old fence looked daggers at the author of this remark, but evidently thought it best to make no direct reply.

"I wish we could get him away tonight," continued young Mortimer, in a way that exasperated Gunwagner.

"Well, you're mighty liable to be accommodated," thought Bob, as a broad grin played over his face, despite the suffering he was enduring. "I'm goin' to take a hand in this business myself, and I'll try my best to help you fellers through with this job."

"No, it can't be done tonight," said the old fence, gruffly; "but I'll see what can be done tomorrow."

"Fix it so he will never get back here to New York again," said Mortimer, heartlessly.

"Of course; that's the only thing to do."

"Remember, there is no time to lose, for if we get tripped up here, the whole game will be up at the bank, and all our trouble will come to nothing."

"I understand that; but you have said nothing about the outlook at the bank."

"I have had no chance. Some one has been here all the evening."

"You have the chance now."

"So I have; but there is nothing to say yet. You don't expect me to rob a bank in one day, do you?"

"No, of course not; but what are the chances for carrying out the scheme?"

"Ah, ha!" said the young detective to himself; "bank robbing, is it?

That's the scheme. Well, this detective business beats me. I guess n.o.body don't often get a more excitin' case than this one is--that's what I think."

After a little further discussion between the two crooks, Mortimer left the den and started for home. Bob suspected that he felt very happy to get away from there; and Bob was quite right, for, as a matter of fact, the young scoundrel had become so alarmed over the prospect, that he felt very uneasy about remaining a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. When he had gone, the old fence closed and bolted the doors, and then pa.s.sed into a rear room, where he retired to his bed.

When all had been quiet for perhaps the s.p.a.ce of fifteen or twenty minutes, the young detective crawled out of his box and straightened himself out. He had, however, been cramped up so long that this was not so easily done. But matters of so great moment were before him now, that he could not think of aches and pains. He learned about the location of the trap door, when the old fence and young Mortimer went into the cellar to look for him.

On his hands and knees Bob cautiously proceeded, searching on either side of him for the door. It was so dark that he could see nothing, and as the room was filled with chairs, old boxes, and so on, he found it no easy matter to navigate under such circ.u.mstances, especially as he knew that the slightest noise would prove fatal to his scheme.

At length his hand rested upon the fastening of the trap door, and to his horror he found it locked. If the room had seemed dark before to the young detective, it was now most oppressively black. What to do, which way to turn, he did not know. The doors leading to the street were locked, he had no keys about him, and no means of producing a light.