"He wants to get me into trouble."

"Please answer my question," said Hal, decidedly.

"Dick came home about two o'clock."

"Has he been home ever since?"

"I believe so."

"Now, Mrs. Ricket, where were you all the afternoon?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I hope you don't suspect me!" cried the landlady, in alarm.

"No, I do not. But please answer me."

"After dinner I cleaned all the halls from top to bottom, and then saw to it that Katie cleaned the front stoop and the windows."

"Then you were in the halls and around the front door most of the time?"

"I was."

"Did I come in at any time during the afternoon?"

"I didn't see you?"

"Wouldn't you have seen me if I had?"

"I suppose I would," admitted the woman.

"What does all this talk amount to?" put in Ferris.

"Shut up!" cried Hal, sharply. "I am not addressing you."

He turned to Saunders.

"You hear what Mrs. Ricket says. I was not here to steal your things."

"Humph! They might have been stolen this morning!" exclaimed Ferris.

"Or last night," added Saunders. "The last I saw of the cuff-buttons was last night, and the pocket-book yesterday noon."

"I don't see how that can be possible," replied Hal, quietly.

"It's easy enough," exclaimed Ferris. "Just because I was home during the afternoon, and you were not, doesn't prove that you didn't take the things."

"No, that doesn't, but something else does," replied Hal.

"What?"

"This newspaper, which was wrapped around the box."

At these words Ferris grew white, and trembled from head to foot.

"What about the paper?" asked Saunders, curiously.

"It is an afternoon paper, dated to-day. It could not possibly have been put around the box before one o'clock this afternoon."



CHAPTER XII.

HAL IN A FEARFUL SITUATION.

Every one in the room was surprised at Hal Carson's unexpected statement.

"Let me see the paper!" cried Saunders.

Hal handed it over, and the dry-goods clerk scanned it eagerly.

"You are right," he muttered, and shook his head.

"That can't be the same paper that was around the box," put in Dick Ferris, very red in the face.

"It certainly is," replied Hal.

"Yes, I saw Carson pick it up from the spot where I threw it," returned Saunders. "This puts a new face on the matter," he added, with a sharp look at Ferris.

Mrs. Ricket also looked at her nephew.

"Dick, come here," she commanded.

"What do you want?" he demanded, doggedly.

"I want you to return Mr. Saunders' fourteen dollars."

"I haven't got it."

"I know better."

"What, Aunt Amanda, are you going back on me, too?" cried Ferris, in a pretended reproachful tone.

"I tried to believe all along against my better judgment that you were innocent," said the landlady. "But I can't believe it any longer, and when you try to throw the blame on somebody who is innocent, I've got to speak my mind." Mrs. Ricket's voice began to grow stern. "Give up the money, and ask Mr. Saunders to forgive you before he sends for a policeman and has you arrested."

This was a long speech for Mrs. Ricket, and she almost gasped for breath after she had finished.

Dick Ferris' face grew black as he listened to the words.

"You're a nice aunt to me!" he stormed. "Just wait till I tell dad about it when he comes home next time."

But now Saunders had the fellow by the collar.

"Which is it, the money or the station-house?" he asked, shortly.

Dick Ferris looked into the determined black eyes, and then his courage oozed away.

"Will you promise not to do anything, if I give you fourteen dollars?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then here you are." He brought forth his pocket-book, and took out a roll of bills. "I didn't take your money, but it's no fun to be hauled up."

"Why, Dick, where did you get so much money?" cried Mrs. Ricket, in amazement.

"I earned it," replied the fellow, coolly. "Here you are, Saunders. Now, unlock the door and let me out."

Saunders took the fourteen dollars, counted them over, and then did as requested. Without another word Ferris hurried out and down the stairs.

"I hope you are satisfied," said Hal, to the dry-goods clerk.

"I am sorry I suspected you," returned Saunders. "What a mean dog Ferris is."

"He is down on me because I am filling the position he was discharged from," explained Hal.

"Unless he takes a turn for the better I shall tell him to leave the house," cried Mrs. Ricket, trying to dry away her tears. "Ever since he came, two years ago, he has been a torment to me. I only keep him for my poor dead sister's sake."

"How about this stuff?" questioned Saunders, pointing to the inkstands and the boxes of pens.

"I shall return them to Sumner, Allen & Co."

"Queer how that boy got hold of those things," said Mrs. Ricket.

Hal pretended not to hear the remark, and a moment later Saunders and the landlady left the room.

"So that was the plot against me," muttered Hal, as he fixed up to go to supper. "I wonder what Hardwick will say when he hears how it turned out?"

The youth was compelled to smile to himself. The book-keeper would, no doubt, be very angry.

"It was lucky I looked at the newspaper," Hal went on. "It was that saved me, and nothing else. Ferris overreached himself. I wish I could gain such an important point in that bond matter. It would be a great feather in my cap to recover the tin box and its contents."

A little later Hal went down to supper. Ferris did not appear, and nothing was said about the recent happening upstairs.

"Please keep it quiet," whispered Mrs. Ricket to him, as he was about to leave the room. "It will only hurt my reputation to say anything."

The next morning, when Hal arrived at the office, he found Mr. Sumner already there. This was most unusual, and the youth could not help but show his surprise.

The elderly broker was pouring over the books, but as soon as Hal appeared he put them away.

Hal had the inkstands and the pens in his overcoat pocket, and he at once handed them over, much to Mr. Sumner's astonishment.

"Where did they come from?" he asked.

"I will explain later," replied Hal. "Please put them out of sight now, for Mr. Hardwick is coming, and I wish he wouldn't see them."

Mr. Sumner promptly swept the things into his desk, and began to write a letter.

When the book-keeper entered he was astonished to see Hal at work cleaning up. He had fully expected that the youth would be arrested for the robbery at Mrs. Ricket's, and that Hal was now in jail.

Then he looked back and saw Mr. Sumner at his desk, and his astonishment increased.

"Why, really, Mr. Sumner——" he began.

"I'm early this morning, eh?" returned the broker. "Well, I wanted to get this correspondence off my hands, and I seem to be able to do better work early in the morning."

"You are a hard worker," commented Hardwick, and that was all he said.

When Hal was dusting near the rear Mr. Sumner looked up to see that the book-keeper was not noticing, and then motioned to the youth.

"Don't say anything about my being at the books," whispered the broker, in a low tone.

Hal nodded; and then he went on as if nothing had been said. But the words set him to thinking deeply.

At the end of an hour Mr. Sumner arose.

"I am going out for a couple of hours," he said. "If Mr. Allen comes in tell him to let that Wabash matter rest until to-morrow."

"I will," replied Hardwick.

"You may continue on that copying, Carson," went on the broker. "Mr. Hardwick will direct you."

"Yes, sir," replied the youth.

Mr. Sumner quitted the place, and hurried up the street.

Dick Ferris stood on the opposite side near the corner. He then waved his hand to Hardwick.

The book-keeper at once put on his hat and coat, and went out. Hal did not see the man join Ferris.

Hal did his best to concentrate his thoughts upon his work, but found it almost impossible to do so.

A half-hour dragged by slowly.

Then the door burst open, and Hardwick rushed in. He was pale and terribly excited. Rushing up to Hal he caught the youth roughly by the arm.

"See here, I want to have a talk with you!" he cried.

"What about?" asked Hal, as coolly as he could.

"You know well enough, you miserable sneak!" hissed Hardwick. "Tell me at once all you know."

"Know about what?" asked Hal, trying to stand his ground.

Hardwick glared at him for an instant. He seemed to be in a fearful rage. Suddenly he caught Hal by the throat with one hand, and picked up a heavy brass-bound ruler with the other.

"Now, Carson, are you going to speak up or not?" he demanded.



CHAPTER XIII.

HAL SHOWS HIS METTLE.

Hal understood perfectly well that a crisis had come. Hardwick had him by the throat, and unless he acceded to the book-keeper's demand he would be in immediate danger of being choked to death.

"Let—let go of me," he gasped.

"Not until you do as I say," replied Hardwick. "I want you to understand that you can't get the best of me."

Hal tried to push Hardwick away, but the book-keeper made a pass at him with the heavy ruler.

"Keep quiet, if you value your head!" roared Hardwick.

"Let me go!"

"Not until you have told me what you mean by your doings."

"What doings?"

"Your doings up to Mrs. Ricket's."

"Who told you about what happened up there?"

"Never mind; I know all about it."

"Then Ferris saw you last night."

"No, he didn't."

"Or this morning."

"Shut up. You implicated me."

"Did Dick Ferris say I did?" asked Hal.

"Never mind who said so. I want to know what you mean by such work?"

Hal did not reply. He was trying to think. What was Ferris' object in telling Hardwick he had been mentioned in connection with the matter?

Clearly there could be but one reason. Ferris knew Hardwick already disliked Hal, and he wished to put the book-keeper against the youth, so as to get Hal into more difficulties.

"Do you hear me?" demanded Hardwick, giving Hal an extra squeeze on the throat.

"I do," gulped Hal. "Let—go—of me."

"Not until you have answered."

Hal commenced to struggle. Seeing this, Hardwick tried to strike him with the ruler, which, on account of its brass-bound edge, was an ugly weapon. The ruler came down twice, the second time cutting a gash on the youth's neck, from which the blood flowed copiously.

This last blow aroused all the lion in Hal's nature. As the reader knows, he was a well-built boy, and strong for his age. He gave a sudden wrench and broke away.

"Stand back!" he cried. "Don't you dare to touch me again!"

Hardwick glanced toward the door, to see that no one was coming.

"I'll show you!" he hissed, passionately.

He rushed at Hal again. The youth saw him coming, and, drawing back his arm, he planted a blow on Hardwick's nose that sent the blood spurting in all directions.

Hardwick was more surprised than hurt. Had that poor house chap dared to hit him? He turned first red and then white.

"I'll fix you!" he cried.

"Stand back, I tell you!" commanded Hal; he was getting excited himself.

But Hardwick would not stand back, and, as a consequence, he received a blow on the forehead that almost stunned him.

"You beggar, you've got muscle, haven't you?" he cried. "We'll try a different method with you."

He ran toward his desk, and opened it. An instant later Hal saw a revolver in his hand.

"Now we will see who is on top here," said Hardwick.

It would be useless to deny that Hal was frightened at the sight of the shining barrel. He backed several feet.

"I thought that would bring you to terms," said Hardwick. "Now, will you answer my question?"

"You will not dare to shoot me," returned the youth, as calmly as he could.

"Don't be too sure. I intend that you shall answer me."

Hal looked about him. He had backed toward the rear of the office. The window was unlocked. Could he leap through it?

Hardwick followed the youth's look and understood it.

"No, you don't," he said, and, moving toward the window, he locked it.

The only way that now remained to escape was by the street door. Hardwick placed himself in front of this.

"Give me the key to this door," he demanded.

The key hung on a nail close to where Hal was standing.

Instead of complying, Hal took down the key, and placed it in his pocket.

"Did you hear me?" went on the book-keeper.

"I did."

"You are playing with fire, young man."

"Am I?"

"You are. You think I haven't nerve enough to go ahead, but you'll find out your mistake. I'll give you just ten seconds in which to hand me that key."

Hal made no reply.

"Did you hear?"

"I did."

"Are you going to mind?"

"No."

Hardwick aimed the pistol at Hal's head. Whether or not he would have fired cannot be told, for at that instant the door opened, and Mr. Sumner stepped in.

"I forgot my——" he began, and then stopped short in amazement.

"Mr. Sumner!" cried Hal. "I am glad you have come."

"What is the meaning of this?" gasped the elderly broker.

He looked at Hardwick and then at the pistol.

The book-keeper dropped back, unable for the moment to say a word.

"He intended to shoot me," said Hal.

"That is a falsehood!" exclaimed Hardwick.

"It's the truth," retorted the youth.

"No such thing! The young tramp pulled this pistol, and I just snatched it away from him."

Hal was amazed at this deliberate falsehood. Mr. Sumner turned to him.

"Did you have that pistol first?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"I say he did," put in Hardwick.

"I never owned a pistol," added Hal.

"Then he must have stolen it," sneered Hardwick. "I tell you, Mr. Sumner, he is a bad egg, and he ought to be discharged."

"Perhaps," responded the elderly broker, dryly. "Just hand the weapon to me."

Hardwick did so, and Mr. Sumner examined it.

"Do you carry such a weapon?" he asked, shortly.

"No, sir."

"Don't own one, I presume?"

"I must say I do not."

"Humph! So you say Carson drew it on you?"

"He did."

"Mr. Sumner——" began Hal.

"Stop, Carson, until I get through with Mr. Hardwick. What was the cause of this quarrel?"

"The boy got impudent, and I threatened to report him and have him discharged."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. He is an unmannerly dog."

"I didn't think so when I hired him."

"He is, Mr. Sumner."

The elderly broker examined the pistol again.

"I wish you would explain one thing to me, Mr. Hardwick," he said slowly.

"What is that, sir?"

"It is this: If you do not own a pistol how does it happen that I saw this very weapon in your desk over a week ago?"

The book-keeper started back and changed color.

"What—what do you mean?" he faltered.

"Just what I say. About a week ago I had occasion to go to your desk for a certain paper, and I saw this very weapon lying in one corner."

"There—there must be some mistake."

"None, sir. This is your pistol, and I believe you pulled it upon this boy."

Hal's face beamed. The cloud that had gathered so suddenly seemed to be breaking away.

"Why should I draw it on the young cub?" growled Hardwick, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Because you have a spite against Carson, and you wish to get him into trouble. I used to think you a fair and square man, Hardwick, but I find I am mistaken."



CHAPTER XIV.

HAL EXPRESSED HIS OPINION.

The perspiration was standing out upon Mr. Sumner's forehead. He took out his handkerchief and mopped himself. Hardwick shot an angry glance at him.

"I don't see what you find so interesting in the boy," he muttered.

"I am interested in him because he saved my life."

"Saved your life?"

"Exactly. It is true that he came from the poor-house, but he is a young hero, and I will not have him imposed on, especially when he is doing his best to get along."

"Well, every one to his taste," returned Hardwick.

"I want none of your impudence," cried the broker. "You were not as much of a man as this boy when I took you in, eight years ago."

"Thanks," returned Hardwick, coolly. "Perhaps you would just as soon I would quit your service?"

"I would."

"Then I will quit on the first of the year."

"You will quit to-day, and without recommendations."

"Without recommendations!"

"Yes. Let me tell you something. All last evening and this morning early I spent the time examining your books. I find you have made false entries, how many I do not know, and that you are a defaulter in the sum of several thousands of dollars."

Hal was almost as much surprised at Mr. Sumner's statement as Hardwick.

"You—have—examined—the—books?" said the book-keeper, slowly.

"I have."

Hardwick breathed hard. It was a terrible blow Mr. Sumner had dealt him. He had supposed his little crooked actions in the office well hidden from prying eyes.

"You may have to prove what you say," he exclaimed, haughtily.

"I can easily do so," returned Mr. Sumner, coolly. "Shall I send for an officer to take charge of you in the meanwhile?"

At the mention of an officer, Hardwick grew white, and his lips trembled.

"N-no!" he cried. "There must be some mistake."

"There is no mistake whatever. Do you deny that you have appropriated the bank funds of the firm——"

"Mr. Allen gave me the right to——"

"Mr. Allen had no rights, as you are aware. Our partnership is a limited one, and I shall settle with Mr. Allen later."

"You can't hold me accountable for that money."

"I can, but I won't, for I imagine the greater part of it has been spent. How much have you in your pocket now?"

"Sir!"

"You heard my question; answer me."

"I will not! I'm no fool!"

"Very well. Hal, will you call a policeman?"

Hal started for the door. Hardwick caught him by the arm, and shoved him back.

"Stay here! There is my pocket-book."

"Hal, you may remain." Mr. Sumner took the pocket-book and counted the money in it. "A hundred and eighty dollars," he went on. "Have you any more with you?"

"No."

"Is that a genuine diamond you are wearing?"

"Yes."

"What is it worth?"

"It cost seventy-five dollars."

"Then listen to me; I have found out that you are a pretty high liver, Hardwick, and you have probably squandered nearly all of what you have stolen——"

"Look here, I——"

"Stop, or Hal shall go at once for the officer. Now, what I propose to do is this: I will keep this money and that pin and the one hundred and twenty-five dollars of salary coming to you and let the matter drop, so far as that crookedness in the books is concerned."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then Hal shall go for an officer, and you can stand trial."

Hardwick muttered something under his breath, not at all complimentary to his employer. He felt that he was in a tight place.

"There is no alternative?" he asked.

"None."

"And you will let this matter rest?"

"Yes. I wish to give you a chance to turn over a new leaf, if there is any turn over in you."

Hardwick hesitated for a moment.

"I accept," he said, doggedly.

"Very well, hand over the pin."

The diamond scarf pin was transferred to the broker's hand.

"Here is your pocket-book and ten dollars. I don't wish to see you go away without a cent."

"Keep the money; you might as well rob me of all of it," exclaimed Hardwick. He reached for his hat and coat. "You will rue this day, Horace Sumner; mark my word for it. And you, you young tramp!"—Hardwick turned to Hal—"I will get square, and don't you forget it."

He went out, slamming the door behind him. Hal watched him from the window, and saw him turn down Broad Street.

Mr. Sumner gave a long sigh.

"I am glad I am rid of that man," he said.

"So am I," responded Hal. "He is a worse villain than you think, Mr. Sumner."

The elderly broker smiled faintly.

"You still think him connected with the disappearance of the tin box, I suppose."

"I do."

"The police are almost certain they are on the right track of the criminal. I cannot give you the details, but the party is not Hardwick."

"The police don't know everything. Hardwick is thoroughly bad, and he is in league with Dick Ferris and Mr. Allen."

"You speak very positively, Hal."

"Because I know what I am speaking about, sir."

"You say Hardwick is in with Dick Ferris?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do you know?"

"Because they formed a plot to have me arrested. But that is not the worst of it. Hardwick made an attempt on my life because I followed him."

"Is it possible?" Mr. Sumner was now thoroughly interested. "Why did you not tell me of this before?"

"Because I wished to follow out the matter on my own hook, and, besides, I am almost a stranger to you, and you might think I was making up a yarn."

"No, Hal, I trust you thoroughly. I don't know why, but you have something about you that seems perfectly honest."

"Thank you." The youth was blushing. "I will never deceive you, Mr. Sumner, and you may depend on it."

"Tell me about this attempt on your life?" said the broker.

Standing by Mr. Sumner's desk, Hal related very nearly all that had occurred since his first appearance at the office. The broker listened with eager attention.

"You are right," he said, when Hal had concluded. "And apparently Ferris is as bad a villain as Hardwick. But how do you account for Mr. Allen being in with them?"

"On account of that conversation I overheard on the ferry-boat that night. They may try to explain it away as they please, I am convinced that they were talking of robbing your private safe."

"But Mr. Allen comes of very fine connections——" began the broker.

"That may be, but didn't you just say he didn't do just right?"

"So I did, and it is true. But that might be put down to a mere matter of sharp business practice, legally right if not morally so. But this other——"

And the elderly broker shook his head.

"If a man will cheat legally, I don't think he will stop at cheating any other way," replied Hal. "He may for a while, but his conscience soon gets blunted, and that's the end of it. You say the police think somebody else is guilty?"

"Yes."

"Do they think the thief came through the window?"

"Yes."

"That the man who came in while I was here had nothing to do with it?"

"That is their theory."

"But that doesn't explain one point."

"And what is that?"

"Why the marks on the window-sill, which are very plain and made by dirt and ashes, did not extend to the safe."

"Didn't they?"

"No."

"Humph! Who discovered that?"

"I did."

"When?"

"The day the two detectives were here."

"Did you say anything about it?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because, as I said before, I wished to sift the matter myself, if I could. I know I am nothing but a boy, but I intend to do all I can toward getting back your bonds."

"Well, you are smart, Hal, there is no denying that. What is your opinion of the marks?"

"I think they were only a blind."

"Put there to form a wrong impression?"

"Exactly, sir. That robbery was committed by somebody who came in through the office, and who knew the combination of the safe."

"Possibly. But that doesn't fasten the crime on Hardwick."

"It does not. But I look at it in this light. As one of the detectives said, it is possible that somebody stood outside of the rear window and saw you work the combination, but I doubt very much if they could learn the process in that way. There is a glare of light on the window that renders it very difficult to see at all."

"Yes, but——"

"Now wait a moment, please," Hal was growing enthusiastic. "Do you keep the combination written down anywhere?"

"I do not. I gave it to my daughter, Laura, in case something happened to me, and I suppose she has it down, but I do not know."

"Then it isn't likely any one could get the combination unless they watched you?"

"I suppose not."

"Very well. Now, the only persons employed in the office were you, Mr. Allen, Hardwick, Ferris and myself. I know you and I are innocent. Now, who knew of the bonds being in the tin box?"

Mr. Sumner started.

"By Jove! I never thought of that!"

"Please answer me."

"We all knew of it."

"Did any outsider know?"

"I think not."

"Was the tin box locked?"

"Yes."

"After you placed the bonds in it no outsider heard of their being there?"

"Not unless the others told them."

"Which they would not likely do. Now, tell me, was anything else taken?"

"Not a thing."

"Not even placed out of position?"

"As far as I could see, no."

"Was there any trace of the tin box having been opened?"

Mr. Sumner shook his head.

"Doesn't it seem probable that if the thieves had not been certain of what was in the box they would have opened it, and if they were ordinary fellows that they would have taken something else of value?"

"Hal, you ought to be a detective!" cried the broker, in admiration of the body's logical reasoning.

"I tell you that robbery was committed by somebody who knew all about your private affairs, and was here to obtain the combination of your safe, and that somebody was either Hardwick, Mr. Allen, Ferris, or else the three of them."



CHAPTER XV.

HAL DEFENDS A GIRL.

Hal Carson's face glowed with earnestness as he spoke.

It was easy to see that he was fully convinced of the truth of what he had just said.

"It would seem as if you must be right," replied Mr. Sumner, after rather a long pause.

"You may depend on it I am, sir."

"But to think that of Allen!"

"Many a man in a high position has fallen before now. Did you ever inquire into his financial standing—that is, outside of your business relationships?"

"No."

"Then he may not be as well fixed as you think. Could he use the bonds, if he had them?"

"Yes. They were not registered, and there are several ways in which they might have been worked off."

"You are to dissolve partnership on New Year's Day, I believe?"

"Yes. I am not satisfied with the way matters are running, and I intend to run the place alone as I used to."

"Perhaps the dissolution may bring other matters to light, sir."

"Ha! I never thought of that."

"That is, if Mr. Allen doesn't wipe them out in the meantime."

Mr. Sumner jumped to his feet, and began to walk up and down nervously.

"I understand what you are driving at, Hal," he cried. "Where do you get such keen wit? I never saw your equal in a boy."

"I don't know, sir, unless it may be because I take such a strong personal interest in the matter—a thing that most detectives do not."

"It must be that I must have the books investigated by an expert; I am too old to go over them myself and do the work as it ought to be done."

"I think that would be best, but I would not let Mr. Allen know of it."

"I will not."

"Not even if you find he has been robbing you."

"What!"

"No."

"But he ought to be arrested——"

"Not until you have your bonds back, Mr. Sumner."

"I see."

"If you arrest him that won't bring your bonds back. I have a plan to propose, if you will let me carry it out."

"What is it?"

"That while I nominally remain here as clerk and office-boy you allow me to watch him, as well as Hardwick and Dick Ferris."

"You may get into trouble. See how Hardwick threatened you and attacked you in the dark."

"I am not afraid, sir."

"I would not have you go on such a mission for me and get hurt for all the bonds on the street."

"I would be very careful, sir."

"Well, supposing I let you do that, what would you do first?"

"That will depend on circumstances. Where is Mr. Allen now?"

"Gone to Philadelphia on business."

"For the firm?"

"No, for himself."

"Then you are not sure if he has gone there or not?"

"I only know what he said."

"When do you expect him back?"

"Not until to-morrow."

"Will you tell me where he lives?"

"On Fifty-third Street. The number is on the card over there."

Hal took it down.

"Is there anything special to do just now?"

"I must have those papers written up that Hardwick was at work on. The books I can write up myself."

"Then, with your permission, I'll write up the papers and then begin my hunt."

"Very well. But mind and keep out of trouble."

Hal smiled, and turned at once to the desk. A strange feeling filled his breast. He was really going to turn detective—he, a country boy, and that, too, in New York.

"It sounds like the wildest kind of a romance," he thought to himself. "But it isn't; it's sober truth, and I may find it a mighty hard truth before I get through."

He fairly flew at the work, and by two o'clock it was finished. He handed it to Mr. Sumner.

"That is excellent," said the broker, glancing over the written pages. "And now I suppose you are ready to go?"

"If you are willing, sir."

"There is nothing more to be done to-day. To-morrow I shall get a first-class book-keeper whom I happen to know, to take Hardwick's place."

In a minute more Hal was off. He knew not exactly in what direction to go, but thought he would cross Broadway and take the Sixth Avenue elevated cars to Fifty-third Street.

As he stepped on the sidewalk in front of Trinity Church, which stands at the beginning of Wall Street, he happened to glance up, and not far away saw Hardwick.

The ex-book-keeper was smoking a cigar and scowling. He did not see Hal, and the youth soon put himself where he was not likely to be seen.

Five minutes passed. Then Hardwick began to move slowly up Broadway, casting sharp glances to his right and left. Hal slowly followed, keeping several people between himself and the man he was shadowing.

At length Hardwick stopped at the corner of Cedar Street. Here he was joined by Dick Ferris, and the two at once began an animated conversation, which Hal managed to overhear.

"Got the bounce?" were the first words he heard. "Well, that's rich, Hardwick."

"I don't see the point," growled the ex-book-keeper. "I wish I had fixed the young tramp!"

"He seems to be worrying us pretty bad," said Ferris. "But, say, how about that money I was to have?"

"I can't give it to you now."

"Why not?"

"I haven't got it."

"Tell that to your grandmother!"

"It's a fact. Old Sumner made me fork over every cent I had about me."

"What for?"

"He claims I have been getting in on him."

"I'll bet he's right, too."

"Well, he isn't."

"No, of course not," returned Ferris, sarcastically. "A fellow who would——"

"Shut up, you monkey!" cried Hardwick, getting angry. "You know too much."

"Well, when am I to have that money?"

"To-morrow."

"Sure?"

"Yes. I'll get it for you."

"What will you do—bleed old Allen?"

"Never mind, I'll get it, and that's enough. By the way, I want you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"Deliver a letter to Tommy Macklin. I have got an engagement to-night, and I want Tommy to get the letter before morning."

"All right. Hand it over. Where are you going now?"

"Home to get shaved and fixed up and have a nap. I was up all night, and I feel it."

"You're going it pretty strong."

"Don't preach, Dicky, my boy. For your age, I think you go it pretty well yourself."

Ferris laughed and stuffed the letter Hardwick handed him into his pocket. Then the two separated.

Hal pondered for a moment, and then concluded to follow Dick Ferris. Hardwick was going home, "I wish I knew what was in that letter," thought Hal, as he shadowed Ferris up Broadway to Park Row. "It may be something that has to do with the missing tin box."

Ferris passed the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, and then turned into a side street.

"I'll wager he's going to the same place Hardwick visited the other night," exclaimed Hal to himself.

With increased interest he followed Ferris, until the latter came to a narrow and dirty alley-way, piled high on one side with empty boxes and barrels.

Here a number of children were playing, some making snow-men and others coasting on home-made "bread-shovel" sleds.

Ferris tried to walk between them, and in doing so got directly in the way of a small sled upon which was seated a ragged girl not over ten years of age.

The sled brushed against Ferris' leg and angered him.

"What do you mean by doing that, you dirty thing?" he exclaimed. "Take that, and learn better manners."

He hauled off and struck the girl in the face. It was a heavy blow, and it caused her nose to bleed and her cheek to swell.

"You—you brute!" sobbed the girl.

"What's that?" howled Ferris. "A brute, am I? There's another for you!"

He stepped back to hit the girl again. But now there was a rush from the rear, and on the instant the bully found himself in the strong grasp of Hal Carson.



CHAPTER XVI.

HAL ON THE WATCH.

"Let up there, you brute!"

Dick Ferris looked around with a startled air.

When he caught sight of Hal his face fell, and he released the girl.

"What, you!" he exclaimed.

"Exactly. What do you mean by treating this girl so rudely?"

"You are following me," went on Ferris, ignoring the question which had been put to him.

"What if I am?"

"You think you're smart, don't you?" sneered Ferris.

"He's a mean, ugly thing!" put in the girl, between her sobs. "I wish he was arrested."

"Shut up!" roared Ferris, turning to her. "You ran into me on purpose."

"I didn't. We've got a right to coast in this alley; mamma said so."

"You ought to be arrested for striking the little girl," said Hal. "I am awfully glad I arrived in the nick of time to save her from more punishment."

"Good fer you, mister!" cried a small youth standing near. "Give him one in der eye!"

"Yes, do him up, mister," cried several others.

Ferris turned upon them like a savage animal.

"Get out of here, every one of you," he howled, "unless you want to be hammered to death."

"Don't you move," said Hal. "You evidently have more right here than he has."

"Indeed!" said Ferris, turning to Hal. "I wish you would keep your nose out of my affairs."

"Don't let him sass you, mister," put in one of the urchins. "He didn't have no cause ter hit Katie."

Ferris pounced upon the boy at once, and cuffed him right and left. In the midst of the castication, however, Hal caught the bully by the arm, and a second later Dick Ferris measured his length in the gutter.

A shout went up from the boys and girls.

"Dat's der way ter do it!"

"Ain't der gent got muckle, dough?"

Then somebody threw a snow-ball, and in a trice the entire crowd were snow-balling Ferris as furiously as they could.

Hal looked on, and he was compelled to laugh. Then a sudden idea struck him. Like a flash he darted out of sight behind the pile of empty boxes and barrels.

Muttering something under his breath, Dick Ferris struggled to his feet. As soon as he did this the street children took to their legs, dragging their sleds after them. Ferris made after one or two of them, but was unable to effect a capture.

"Run off wid yerself!"

"We ain't got no use fer bullies!"

Spat!

A snow-ball took Ferris right in the ear, and caused him to utter a sharp cry of pain.

Then another took him in the face, and in trying to dodge he slipped and went into a snow-drift.

He was quickly on his feet, and this time ran after the crowd so fast that he caught one of the boys.

"Lemme go!" howled the youngster.

"Not much, you rat! Take that!"

Ferris struck the boy in the mouth, and the little fellow let out a yell.

Hal was just about to dart to his assistance when a policeman came along and touched Ferris on the shoulder.

"What's the trouble here?" he demanded.

Ferris turned savagely, but his manner changed when he beheld the officer of the law.

"This chap is a rascal," he explained.

"In what way?"

"He fired a snow-ball at me and hit me in the ear."

"I didn't," howled the urchin. "It was anudder fellow wot fired dat snow-ball."

And he began to cry bitterly.

"It was only done in fun, I suppose," said the officer.

"Fun!" fumed Ferris. "Look at my clothes!"

The officer did so. Ferris was covered with snow and dirt, principally the latter.

"The snow-ball couldn't have done that," said the policeman.

He was in sympathy with the small boy, whom he knew as the son of one of his friends.

"I know. But this boy and a lot of his chums got to throwing at me, and in trying to dodge I went down."

The policeman paused for a moment, and then turned to the urchin.

"See here, bubby, if I let you go will you promise not to throw any more snow-balls?"

"Yes, sir," came in one breath, and very eagerly.

"Then run."

"What! ain't you going to arrest him?" cried Dick Ferris, in some excitement.

"I think not."

"But he ought to be."

"I fancy I know my own business best," was the short reply.

"But he is a little imp, and——"

"Better let it go. I dare say you throw snow-balls yourself once in a while."

And with this remark the policeman moved on.

"Well, that's a fine way to treat a fellow," muttered Ferris to himself. "I suppose that policeman would let the whole ward pounce on me without doing anything toward helping me. I wonder where that Hal Carson is?"

The tall youth brushed off his clothing hastily, and returned to the entrance to the alley. He looked around carefully, but Hal kept well hidden.

Dick Ferris was undecided what to do. Should he deliver the letter intrusted to him by Hardwick? He hesitated and then continued up the alley-way, upon which a number of dirty, dingy tenement houses were situated.

Arriving at the very last of these, he ascended the front stoop and knocked loudly upon the door. There was no reply, and while he was waiting for some one to answer his summons, Hal managed to skulk up behind the other buildings and approach within hearing distance.

At last Ferris got tired of waiting, and he tried the door. It was unlocked, and, pushing it open, the tall boy entered.

Hal waited for a moment, and then, mounting the stoop, peered in at the door, which Ferris had left partly open.

As the youth had surmised, the hall-way was quite dark. He heard Ferris mounting the rickety stairs, and like a shadow he followed, fairly holding his breath, lest some sound might betray his presence.

Ferris mounted almost to the top of the tenement, and then hammered on a door in the rear.

"Come!" cried a voice from inside, and Ferris entered.

No sooner was the door closed than Hal approached it and applied his eye to the key-hole. He saw a small apartment, scantily furnished with a small cook-stove, a table, three chairs, and some kitchen utensils.

A man sat before the stove, smoking a short briar pipe. He was unshaved, but his face bore evidence of former gentility and manhood, in spite of the fact that it was now dissipated.

"Hullo, Ferris!" he exclaimed.

"How are you, Macklin?" returned the tall boy.

"Not very well, I can tell you," returned Macklin, removing his pipe and spitting into the stove. "I've got rheumatism, yer know."

"Rheumatism!" laughed Ferris. "More likely it's rumatism, Tommy."

"Don't give me any o' yer jokes, Ferris. Wot brings yer?"

"I've got a letter for you."

"From Hardwick?"

Ferris nodded.

"I thought I would hear from him before long. Hand it over."

Ferris did so. Macklin tore open the epistle and began to peruse it hastily. As he did so Ferris tried to glance over his shoulder.

"Here! none o' dat!" cried Macklin, savagely. "Wot's my business is my business."

He finished reading the letter and put it in his coat pocket. Then he pulled away on his pipe for a moment.

"Well?" said Ferris, by way of inquiry.

"Tell him it's all right if he doubles the figger."

"Makes the amount twice as large?"

"Dat's it. It's a ticklish piece o' business."

"What is the work, Macklin?" questioned Ferris, sitting down on the opposite side of the stove.

The man closed one eye.

"Hardwick knows," he replied, shortly.

"I know that," replied Ferris. "And I know something about this new deal, too."

"Wot do yer know?"

"Never mind. I know."

"Dat's all put on, Ferris; yer don't know a t'ing, see?" cried Macklin, with a laugh that sounded more like a croak.

Dick Ferris colored slightly.

"Hardwick said there was something new on," he explained, lamely.

"Yes, but he didn't tell yer wot it was."

Ferris arose, thinking that further attempts at pumping would be useless.

"Say, don't be in no hurry," went on Macklin. "Sit down an' git warmed up."

"I ain't cold."

Ferris started for the door, but the man pulled him back.

"How did yer make out wid Hardwick on dat last deal?" he asked.

"All right," responded the tall boy, hurriedly.

"Wot do you call all right?"

"That's my affair, Tommy."

"Don't git on yer high horse, Ferris."

"I can keep as mum as you can, Tommy, and don't you forget it."

"Did he give you more dan a hundred?"

"Is that what you got out of it?"

"Naw! I didn't git half o' dat."

"Hardwick is a close one."

"Dat's so. But some day he'll have ter pony up, yer see if he don't."

"I suppose it will be you who will squeeze him," said Ferris, with another laugh.

"You bet."

"He ought to be squeezed a little," said Ferris, reflectively. "He makes a small fortune alongside of what we get out of it."

"Yes, but der trouble is, yer can't corner him," responded Macklin. "If yer try, yer git yerself in trouble. But before long——" he did not finish in words, but bobbed his head vigorously.

"Where's your wife?" asked Ferris, glancing around.

"Der old woman's gone to der market."

"Ain't any one else here, is there?"

Ferris glanced around suspiciously. "No."

"Then supposing we come to an understanding?" went on Ferris, in a low tone. "We both do work for Hardwick, and we ought to get more money for it."

"Well?"

"Unless we get together we can't do anything. But when he finds we are both of a mind he may listen to us, and both of us will make by it."

Hal listened to every word of this conversation with deep interest. From it he discovered that Macklin was a tool of Hardwick as well as Ferris and both were in the habit of doing underhand work for the ex-book-keeper.

"If either of them would only mention something definite," he thought. "The tin box robbery for instance. Then I would be certain I was on the right track."

"That's an idea, Ferris," replied Macklin. "It ain't fair fer Hardwick ter be rollin' in money an' me livin' here."

"That's it."

"I uster be jest as fine a liver as him, Ferris, in the flush days. An' when old Sumner took Hardwick in an' bounced me——"

Macklin did not finish. There was a racket in the hall-way, and then came the tones of an excited Irishwoman.

"Phot's this? Phot be yez doin' here, young mon, sn'akin' along like a thafe? Tommy Macklin, cum here!"



CHAPTER XVII.

NEAR TO DEATH.

The Irishwoman had come up behind Hal so softly—she wore rubbers—that the youth did not hear her, and he was, therefore, thoroughly startled when she made the exclamation quoted at the end of the preceding chapter.

Ferris and Macklin jumped to their feet and both rushed out in the hall.

"What's the row, Mary?" cried the latter.

"Sure an' that's phot Oi want to know," replied the woman. "Oi found this fellow pakin' in the kay-hole of your dure, so Oi did."

"It's Hal Carson!" exclaimed Ferris. "So this is the way you followed me, eh?" he continued.

"Who is Hal Carson?" asked Macklin, grasping the youth by the arm.

"Old Sumner's new clerk and office boy," replied Ferris. "Don't let him get away."

Macklin gave a whistle.

"Dat's kinder serious, if he follered yer here. Wot have yer got ter say fer yerself?" he demanded, turning to Hal.

"Let go of my arm," returned Hal. "Are you the only one who lives in this building?"

"No."

"Then I presume I have a right to enter the hall-way, haven't I?"

"That won't wash, Carson!" exclaimed Ferris. "You are doing nothing but following me, and you know it."

"Just you step inside, do you hear?" commanded Macklin. "That's all right, Mary, I'll take care o' him," he added to the woman.

"Oi wondher if he was up in me apartment," she said, suspiciously. "Oi'll go up an' see if there is anything missing."

The woman departed, and Macklin tried to shove Hal into the room.

"Stop that!" ordered the youth.

"Don't pay no attention to him," cried Ferris. "He's a regular spy, and he's trying his best to get us all into trouble."

Macklin caught Hal by the arm. The next instant Hal received a terrible blow behind the right ear that almost stunned him.

"Now I think yer will come in an' mind," howled Macklin. "Take hold o' him, Ferris."

The tall boy came out, and before Hal could recover he was dragged into the apartment and the door was closed and locked.

When he came to realize what had happened he found himself confronted by the angry pair.

"That's what you get for spying on us," said Ferris.

"Tain't no healthy business fer a feller ter be in around here," added Macklin, with a coarse laugh.

"I want you to open the door," returned Hal, as calmly as he could.

"That's right!" laughed Ferris. "I suppose you think you can command us to do anything, don't you?"

Hal walked toward the door and shook it. It was strongly built, and to break it down was out of the question.

"Give me the key," he said.

Another laugh followed this speech.

Hal glanced out of the window. It was tightly closed, and the distance to the court below was fully twenty feet.

The youth looked at Macklin, who had resumed his smoking.

"What do you propose to do with me?" he asked.

"That is hard ter tell," replied the tough. "It all depends on wot Ferris is got ter say."

"You have the key of the door?"

"I kinder think it's in my pocket."

"Give it to me."

Macklin chuckled.

"Don't waste yer breath; yer may need it."

He had hardly spoken when Hal sprang upon him. The youth was thoroughly aroused, and a well directed blow sent Macklin sprawling in one corner, while his pipe went flying in another.

The tough uttered a howl as he went down, and Ferris gave a cry of consternation.

"Now will you give me the key?" demanded Hal.

"Git orf of me!" spluttered Macklin.

"Let up there," put in Ferris.

"Stand back, Ferris," cried Hal. "I am not to be trifled with."

"Pull him orf!" roared Macklin.

Ferris advanced, but rather gingerly.

He knew Hal's strength, and he had a great horror of being struck.

Macklin tried to rise, but Hal hit once more and he went down a second time. Then Hal sat down on his body.

"Hand over the key."

Hal had an idea the key was in Macklin's outer pocket, and into this he inserted his hand.

It soon came in contact with what he was searching for. He tried to withdraw the key, but now Macklin began to squirm worse than ever, and he had hard work to master the fellow.

"Help me, Ferris!" howled the tough.

"Don't you dare come near," said Hal.

"Don't mind him—help me," said Macklin again.

Ferris hesitated, but at last approached and caught Hal by the arm.

"Let Macklin up," he said.

Instead of replying Hal sprang to his feet. In one hand he held the key, and with the other he shoved Ferris up against the wall.

"Now let me pass!"

"Don't do it!" howled Macklin.

"I won't," replied Ferris.

He caught Hal by the coat tail. This compelled the youth to turn once more. He aimed a blow at Ferris' head, and the fellow went down over the table.

Hal now thought he saw his way clear to escape. He bounded toward the door, and was just inserting the key into the lock when Macklin sprang up.

Beside the stove lay a heavy billet of wood, which the man had intended to split up for kindlings. Macklin caught up the stick, and jumping behind Hal, hit the youth a fearful blow directly on the top of the head.

With a low cry, Hal sank down in a heap. Macklin gave a sudden gasp, and Ferris straightened up.

"Have you—killed him?" asked Ferris in a tone, of horror.

"I don't know," replied the tough. "Dat was a kinder heavy crack, wasn't it?"

Ferris shuddered. A thin stream of blood was issuing from Hal's head, and this made the tall boy sick. He approached and gazed at Hal's pallid face and motionless form.

"I'm afraid you have killed him, Macklin," he said.

"Me killed him?" cried the tough. "I kinder think you had as much ter do wid it as me."

Ferris had a sudden chill dart down his back-bone at these words. If anything was wrong it was certain Macklin did not intend to shoulder the blame.

"What made you hit him so hard?" he asked.

"I couldn't help it. Let's see how bad he is."

Macklin approached Hal and turned over the limp body. Then he placed his hand over the youth's heart.

"He ain't dead yet. Dat was a hard crack, but he's got a strong constitution, dat feller has. Say?"

"Well?"

Macklin came up close to Dick Ferris, who was now as white as a sheet.

"We is good friends, Ferris, ain't we?"

"Ye-as."

"Den let me do sum'thin' fer yer."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell yer. Yer see der feller ain't——"

Macklin broke off short, as a footstep sounded in the hall-way.

"It's der old woman comin' back," he muttered.

"Your wife?"

"Yes."

"Oh, what shall we do with the—the body?" cried Ferris, in alarm.

As he spoke the door-knob was turned, and then came the tones of a woman's voice:

"Let me in, Tommy!"



CHAPTER XVIII.

HAL IN A TIGHT SITUATION.

Before Dick Ferris could say a word or move, Macklin clapped his hand over the tall boy's mouth.

"Hush!" he muttered. "I'll fix it all right."

A square table stood in one corner of the room, and under it was a quantity of old bagging.

Macklin seized hold of Hal's body and dragged it toward the table.

Then he shoved the motionless form under the piece of furniture and covered it with the loose bagging.

The key to the door lay on the floor, and picking it up, Macklin inserted it in the lock and gave it a turn.

In a second the door was opened and a stout and harsh-looking woman appeared.

It was Tommy Macklin's wife.

She was a heavy drinker, but she was not a really bad woman at heart.

Had she been as unscrupulous as Macklin himself, the tough would never have pursued the course he did.

Before the woman could enter the room he met her and cut her short.

"I want you to go upstairs," he said, taking the market basket she carried from her.

She looked surprised.

"What for?"

"There was a sneak-thief around, and I want you to see if Mary lost anything."

"A thief? Did he get——"

"No, I didn't give him the chance."

The woman at once turned and went up the flight of stairs leading to the top floor. She had not seen Ferris, and the tall boy breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to listen to what Macklin had to say.

"We've got a good chance ter git him out o' der way."

"Out of the way?" whispered Ferris.

"Dat's wot I said."

"You don't mean——"

Ferris stopped short.

"Yes, I do. You say he's an enemy ter you an' Hardwick?"

"He is that."

"Den I'd git him outer der way."

Ferris' lip twitched.

"What would you do with him?"

"I'll show yer." Macklin scratched his matted hair. "Give me dat potato bag in der closet."

Ferris hesitated, and then, opening the closet in the corner, brought forth an unusually long potato sack.

Raising up the top part of Hal's body, Macklin slipped the sack over head and shoulders. Then he tied the string of the sack fast around Hal's waist.

The tough opened the door and passed out into the hall way.

No one was in sight. Macklin returned to the room.

"Quick, catch him by der legs," he said to Ferris. "I'll take him by der shoulders, an' we'll have him outer sight in a jiffy."

"Where—where will you take him?" faltered Ferris. His teeth were chattering, and his face was as pale as death.

"I'll show yer. Catch hold."

Macklin's tones were angry ones, and Ferris complied. With the body of Hal between them, the pair passed down one flight of stairs, and then to a narrow stairway in the rear leading to a dirty wash-shed.

"Wait here wid him till I come back," said Macklin, and he darted out of the wash-shed door.

Ferris stood beside Hal's body. Presently he thought he heard a low moan, and he imagined that Hal moved one arm. His teeth chattered worse than ever, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing away.

At length, after what seemed to be an age, but which was really less than five minutes, Macklin reappeared.

"We've got der boss chance!" he exclaimed, in a low tone. "Chuck dat piece of rag carpet over him. Dat's it. Now pick him up ag'in."

Once more the two took up Hal's body. Their course was now through the court and into a narrow lane. Here the snow was piled high, but neither seemed to mind it.

"Here we are."

It was Macklin who spoke. He stood at the basement door of an old stone structure which in years gone by had been a vinegar and pickle factory. Pushing open the door, he motioned to Ferris, and Hal's body was taken inside and the door once more closed.

"Wait till I strike a light," said Macklin.

"What is this place?" asked Ferris.

"It's a factory wot ain't in use," was the reply. "His body won't be found here for two or t'ree months, if da finds it at all."

Macklin struck a match and lit a bit of dirty tallow candle which he carried.

"See dat big hole in der floor over dare?" he asked.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sum kind of a vat, I t'ink. Dat's der place. Hold der glim, will yer?"

Ferris took the candle. His hand shook so that the tallow dropped all over it.

"Wot's der matter wid yer nerves?" asked Macklin, sarcastically.

"Nothing," returned the tall boy, briefly.

"Yer shakin' like a leaf."

"I am cold."

And for once Ferris told the truth. An icy chill seemed to have struck his heart.

Catching hold of Hal's body, Macklin dragged it to the edge of the vat. There was a slight scraping sound as the body was pushed over the edge of the hole, and then all became quiet.

"Dat settles it," said Macklin. "Come on back."

And Hal was left to his fate.



CHAPTER XIX.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

Hal came to himself with a shiver. Where was he, and what had happened?

For a moment he could not collect his scattered senses. Then the cold water in the vat reached his mouth and nose, and he gave a gulp.

He put out his hands. They were tight in the sack. With a struggle he stood up. The water in the vat reached his waist, and it was icy cold.

Presently the string of the sack gave way, and he pulled the article off of him. Then he realized what had happened up in the tenement, and felt the blood trickling over his forehead.

"They have put me here thinking I was dead," he thought. "I wonder what sort of a place this is?"

He stepped around in the water, and applied some of it to his head. This stopped the flow of blood, and appeared to clear his brain.

It was semi-dark in the vat, but presently his eyes grew accustomed to this, and he saw where he was.

He gave a shiver. The top of the vat was fully three feet above his reach. What if he could not get out? He would soon perish from the extreme cold.

The vat was some ten or twelve feet in diameter, and Hal walked around the bottom in hopes of finding some spot higher than that upon which he was standing.

In this he was disappointed. The bottom of the vat was perfectly level. By the time he had discovered this fact, he was shivering so he could hardly stand upright.

He jumped up several times in hopes of getting out by that means. But though his hands once touched the upper edge of the vat, he could gain no hold, and immediately slipped back again.

"Help! help!" he cried.

Then he listened. There was no reply. Macklin and Ferris had returned to the tenement.

"I'm all alone," he muttered to himself. "I will die here, and no one will ever know what became of me."

This thought filled Hal with despair, and he again cried out, louder than before.

The cry went echoing through the vast and gloomy building, but there was no response.

"This will never do," thought the youth. "Must I die like a rat in a trap?"

The very thought was maddening, and again he essayed to reach the top of the vat.

It was utterly useless.

"The building must be deserted," he said to himself. "And I suppose it is too far to the street for any one to hear my call."

Five minutes passed. Hal was getting weaker fast. Oh, how his head ached!

Filled with something akin to desperation, Hal cried out again, this time at the very top of his lungs. A deep and profound silence followed.

"It's no use," he thought. "This is some old building that no one will visit all winter. I suppose Ferris and that Macklin think——"

He held his breath. What was that sound overhead?

He strained his ears. Yes, it was footsteps!

"Help! help! Come down in the cellar!" he cried.

Again and again his voice rang out, and the footsteps came closer. Then his heart seemed to stop beating. Supposing it should be Ferris or Macklin returning?

"What's the trouble?" suddenly cried a voice from the stairs in the corner.

"Help me out of the vat!" replied Hal. "Quick! I am freezing to death!"

"Wall, I swan!" ejaculated the voice.

Then came more footsteps, and an elderly man, carrying a lantern, appeared at the edge of the vat.

"Give me your hand," he said, setting down the lantern. "This is a nice fix ter git into."

He leaned down, and Hal held up his hand. The new-comer grasped the youth's wrist, and in a moment Hal was upon the cellar floor.

"Oh, thank you!" chattered Hal. "I—I—couldn't have stood it another minute."

"'Most froze, be you?" returned the man. "Here, strip off that coat of yourn and put on mine. That's a most all-fired cold bath. How did you git in?"

"I was pushed in," replied Hal. He tried to pull off his coat, but had not the strength. "Will you help me?"

"Of course." In a twinkle the man had the coat off, and his own on Hal's shivering form. "Belong around here?"

"No."

"Then come with me. I live right across the way, and I'll soon warm you up. It's lucky I came over to see if everything was all right. I'm looking after the place till spring."

The man took up his lantern once more and led the way up stairs and across the street. The two entered a neat-looking tenement, and the man took Hal to a set of rooms on the second floor.

A hot fire was blazing in the kitchen, and drawing up a chair the man motioned for Hal to sit down.

"Maybe the old woman kin lend you some clothes," said the man. "But I allow as how you may be better off, if you let the wet ones dry onto you. It may save you from a spell of sickness."

"I am doing very nicely now," replied Hal. "I am used to some pretty tough knocks," he added, and he spoke the truth, for life at the Fairham poor-house had been anything but easy.

At that moment, the door opened, and a girl rushed in. She looked at Hal, and then gave a cry of surprise.

"Hullo! What brings you here?" she asked.

"What's that?" put in the man.

"He saved me from getting a beating," said the girl. "Didn't you?"

Hal turned and looked at the girl. It was the same that Ferris had attacked at the entrance to the alley.

He smiled and nodded.

"It was awful good of you," she went on. "He's a brave man, pop."

"Who was going to beat you?"

The girl gave her version of the affair. The man listened attentively, and then turned to Hal.

"I'm doubly glad I did you that service," he said. "Katie is my only girl, and I don't want her abused. May I ask your name?"

"Hal Carson."

"Mine is McCabe."

"McCabe!" cried Hal. "Are you Jack McCabe's father?"

"I am. Do you know my boy?"

"Do I? He saved my life only the other night."

"So it was you he saved?" exclaimed McCabe.

"Yes."

"He told me about it. It seems you have enemies."

"Yes."

"And they are the ones who pushed you into the vat?"

"One of them did, aided by a chum."

"You have been struck on the head. Here, let me bind it up. I suppose you are in no hurry to go?"

"No, sir."

McCabe brought out a handkerchief and a strip of cloth, and bound up the wound, which was but a slight one.

"You ought to have the pair of them arrested," he said.

"I have my reasons for not doing so," replied Hal. "But you may rest assured their time will come."

"They must be villains."

"They are. But, Mr. McCabe, let me thank you for what you have done."

"Oh, don't say a word!"

"I shall never forget it. But for you I might at this moment be dead."

"I only hope you down the rascals, every one of them. Now, I must go and finish looking after the place. Come along, Katie. We'll be back in quarter of an hour. You had better take off your shoes and warm your feet in the oven."

"Thank you."

McCabe and his daughter departed. After they were gone, Hal locked the door and took off part of his clothing, and also did as the man had advised.

The roaring fire soon dried the clothing and warmed Hal through and through. As soon as he heard McCabe's footsteps on the stairs he rearranged his toilet.

"Katie says she saw the fellow that wanted to hit her down in the street just now," said McCabe.

Hal jumped up.

"Which way did he go?"

"Over toward Park Row."

The youth thought for a moment.

"Mr. McCabe."

"What is it, Mr. Carson?"

"Will you do me a great favor?"

"Let's hear what it is."

"Please keep the fact that you saved me a secret."

"A secret?" cried the old watchman, in considerable astonishment.

"Yes, sir."

"What for?"

"I have my reasons for it."

"The villains that attacked you ought to be punished. They ought to be in the hands of the police this blessed minute."

"You are right, ordinarily speaking, but I have work to do before I have them locked up."

"Well, I'll do as you say."

"You see, I want to have them believe that I am really done for."

"I see."

"If they think that, I can follow them up wherever they go quite easily."

"I don't see how. If they see yer——"

"I will be disguised."

"Oh! Goin' ter play a kind of detective part, be you?"

"That is what it amounts to, I suppose."

"It's a great plan, Mr. Carson. You have a long head on yer shoulders."

And the old man chuckled.

"Thank you. Then I can depend or you to——"

"I won't say a blessed word."

"And please caution Katie."

"All right. I will, sir."

"Thank you."

"But when you get through I'll expect to learn how you come out," said McCabe, hastily.

"You can rest assured that I will let you know the full particulars. And I am not going to forget what you have done for me, either."

"Shoo! that's all right. And say——"

At that moment Katie came flying into the apartment, her tangled hair floating in all directions.

"He's downstairs and coming up!" she cried, shrilly.

"Who?" questioned her father, while Hal stood still in wonder.

"The tall boy who hit me."

"Dick Ferris!" muttered Hal under his breath. "What can he want here?"



CHAPTER XX.

FOLLOWING ALLEN.

Hal was astonished to learn from Katie McCabe that Dick Ferris was coming up the tenement stairs.

"He can't be coming here!" exclaimed the youth.

"What shall we do if he does?" asked McCabe.

"I don't know. Perhaps I had better hide. He may——"

At that instant came a knock on the door.

"It's him!" whispered Katie.

Andy McCabe, the father, pointed to a closet. Hal tiptoed his way to it, and motioned for Katie to follow. The door was closed, and then Andy McCabe answered the summons.

Ferris stood at the door, his hair disheveled and his lips trembling.

"May I ask who lives here?" he asked.

"My name is McCabe."

"Isn't there a man by the name of Macklin living here?" went on Ferris.

"Macklin?" repeated McCabe, slowly.

"Yes, Tommy Macklin."

"Not as I know on. What does he do?"

"I don't know. I have a letter to deliver to him. So you don't know where he lives?"

"No, sir."

"It's too bad. Will you please tell me what time it is?"

Andy McCabe glanced at the alarm clock that stood on the mantel-shelf.

"Quarter to six."

"As late as that!" cried Ferris. "I must hurry and catch him before six. Only quarter of an hour. Good-day, sir."

"Good-day."

In a moment Ferris was gone. McCabe closed the door, and Hal came out of the closet followed by Katie.

"What does he mean?" questioned the man.

"I'll tell you what it means," said Hal. "He is trying to prove an alibi, in case a body was found in the vat. He thinks you can remember he was here looking for Macklin at quarter to six. If that was true, how could he have helped Macklin at five o'clock?"

"Well, well! he's a smart villain, so he is!" exclaimed Andy McCabe. "I wonder what he would have done if you had stepped out of the closet?"

"I was strongly tempted to do that," laughed Hal. "But now I must be off, Mr. McCabe. Please keep quiet, as I told you."

"I will, Mr. Carson. But where be you going?"

"To follow Ferris. Say, have you an old slouch hat you will exchange for this cap of mine?"

"Here is one of Jack's."

"That will do first-rate."

Hal put on the hat and drew it down over his brow.

"Going to turn spy, be you?" remarked Andy McCabe.

"Yes."

"Well, I wish you luck."

Hal was soon out of the house. Once in the street, he looked up and down.

Ferris was not in view, but he soon caught sight of the fellow coming out of a tenement across the way. He crossed over and followed Ferris toward Park Row, and then to the boarding house.

Here Hal heard the youth say something to his aunt about changing his clothing, and the boy slipped into the house unobserved by anyone, and did likewise. Ferris then left again, followed by Hal.

"I suppose he thinks he has laid good ground-work for his alibi," thought Hal. "Well, let him think so, he will be surprised before long to learn the truth."

At Fourteenth Street Dick Ferris turned and walked toward Broadway. Hal followed close behind, but in the crowd at the corner he lost track of the fellow he was after.

He looked this way and that, and into the restaurants, but Ferris had disappeared.

What was to do next? It was past supper-time, but Hal was in no humor for eating.

Suddenly somebody brushed him rudely. It was a man wearing a heavy cape coat. Hal glanced at the individual sharply, and was astonished to see it was Mr. Caleb Allen.

Allen had not seen Hal, and the boy at once placed himself where he was not likely to be noticed.

"I wonder if he and Ferris met?" thought Hal. "It isn't likely, but yet it may be so. The three of them are into this, and so is that fellow Macklin. I must be careful, and keep my eyes wide open."

Allen passed up Union Square on the west side, and Hal made it a point to follow close behind.

Arriving at Seventeenth Street, Allen turned down toward the North River. He passed over several blocks, and finally ascended the steps of a small mansion on the left.

The front of the mansion was totally dark, but when the door was opened Hal saw that the interior was brilliantly illuminated.

As soon as Allen passed in the door was closed, and all became as dark as before, Hal hesitated, and then ascending the steps, looked for a door-plate.

There was the number in bright silver numerals, but nothing was to be seen of any name.

"Most of them have a name," he said to himself. "I wonder who lives here?"

Hal descended again to the street, and walked on to the end of the block.

Here was a small stand with a flaring gasoline torch, at which an old German was selling apples and other fruit.

Hal entered into conversation with the proprietor of the stand, and at length asked if he knew who lived at the place, mentioning the number.

"Dot blace?" The man gave a low laugh. "I dinks me nopody vos lif dere."

"Nobody?"

"Nein."

"But there must be somebody," urged Hal. "I saw a man go in."

"Dot's so, too." The German laughed again. "But da don't vos lif dere."

"Well, what are they doing there, then?"

The apple man put his long finger up beside his nose.

"Dot vos a blace ver dere rich fool vos plow in his money; see?"

"A gambling-place?"

"Oxactly."

"Who runs it?"

"Dot I don't vos know. I dinks me a fellow named Ditson."

"Do many men go there?"

"Yah. Somedimes so many as two dozen by von night."

"And they do nothing there but gamble?"

The German nodded. "Of you got some money you don't vont to kept dot's der blace to lose it."

"Thank you, but I need all I have," laughed Hal.

"Den you don't better keep away, ain't it?"

"I think that would be best."

"Dake mine vort it vos."

"Did you see many men go in to-night?"

"Vot you ask dot for, hey?"

"I'm looking for a man I know."

"I seen nine or ten men go in by dere front door. I don't vos know how many go py der pack."

"Then there is a back door?"

"Yah, on der next street."

"I see. Well, I guess I won't wait for the man."

Hal walked back slowly, and passed the house. What should he do next? Would it be worth while to track Allen farther at present?

Suddenly an idea popped into his mind. Farther up the street he had passed a costumers' establishment, where everything in the shape of a make-up for detective or actor was to be had.

He walked back to the place, and entered it. Back of the counter stood a young who came up and asked what was wished.

"Can I get a small, black mustache cheap?" asked Hal.

"We have them for twenty-five cents."

"Will they stay on?"

"Yes, if you adjust them properly."

"Then let me have one."

The clerk brought forth the false mustache, and helped Hal to put it on. The youth looked in a mirror at the effect.

"Changes me completely," he said.

"It does, sir. Makes you look five years older, too."

"Here is your money."

The clerk took Hal's quarter, and the boy walked forth from the place without taking the trouble to remove the mustache. Once outside he could not help but laugh.

"I am certainly going into the detective business, and no mistake," he thought. "I trust I am successful in what I undertake to do."

Hal walked back toward the gambling-house, and after some hesitation ascended the stone steps and rang the bell.

A negro answered his summons.

"Is Mr. Arnold here?" asked the lad, as coolly as he could.

"Mr. Arnold?" The negro shook his head.

"But he must be," persisted Hal. "He said he was coming here."

"Don't t'ink I see him, sah. What kind ob a lookin' gen'men he is?"

"About medium built, with a dark mustache," replied Hal. "I have important news for him. He said he was going to try his luck here to-night."

"I see, sah. Den you knows dis place, sah."

"Oh, yes!"

"Come in, sah."

Hal entered, and the door was closed and locked behind him.

"Now you kin go upstairs an' see if de gen'men am here," said the negro. "He might be, yo' know, an' I not know his name, sah."

"All right; I'll take a look around," replied Hal.



CHAPTER XXI.

IN A DANGEROUS PLACE.

Hal felt that his situation was a delicate one, and that he must go slow. Were it discovered that he had entered the den of vice merely for the purpose of spying, it might go hard with him.

The negro waved his hand toward the thickly carpeted stairway, and Hal ascended to the second floor of the mansion.

He looked behind to see if the negro had followed, but that burly individual had disappeared.

The upper hall-way was as dark as below, but from under several doors a bright light was streaming.

Hal approached the first one he came to, and, removing his hat, tried the handle.

The door came open, and Hal peered into the apartment.

No one was present, but a young man asleep in an arm-chair, and Hal stepped inside.

The room was gorgeously furnished, costly rugs covering the floor, and heavy curtains hanging over the doors. On the walls were beautiful paintings, and on a stand to one side of the room rested a remarkable piece of statuary representing three jolly gamblers at the gaming-table.

"It must be some sort of a waiting-room," thought Hal. "I wonder who the fellow asleep in the chair is?"

He gave a slight cough, and the young man slowly opened his eyes.

"Did anybody call me?" he asked, in a heavy tone.

"Where is the playing-room, please?" asked Hal.

"Eh? playing-room?" repeated the young man. "Go right in the next room."

He pointed with his finger, and bowing, Hal did as directed.

The sight that met Hal's eyes as he opened the door filled the youth with wonder. He had often heard of such places, but he had never dreamed of them being as they are. He saw a long hall, brilliantly lighted. Crowded about the table, some standing and some sitting, were young men and old, all intent on the games that were going on.

The table was piled with money, which seemed to change hands rapidly, for the resort was a well-known one among club men.

"What do you make it?"

"A twenty, Charley."

Hal recognized the last voice. It was that of Mr. Caleb Allen!

The boy looked at the man. There was an excited appearance upon the broker's features.

"He looks as if he has been losing," thought Hal. "I wonder how much he has staked?"

No one appeared to notice his coming, and he stood just back of the crowd, taking in everything so far as it concerned Allen.

The game went on, and Allen lost. Then the broker played once more, and lost again.

"A hundred this time," he said.

The broker played with extreme caution, as indeed did all of the others. In consequence the game lasted fully quarter of an hour.

Hal saw by the broker's actions that the game was going against the man, and he was not surprised, when the play ended, to hear that Allen had lost.

Allen turned away from the table. As he did so he came face to face with Hal. He started back, and gave the youth a keen look.

"Where have I met that fellow before?" he muttered to himself.

He had not recognized Hal with the false mustache.

The game went on, but Allen took no more interest, and soon disappeared from the room.

Hal was about to follow, when a tall man stepped up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I want to have a talk with you, my friend," he said, in a low tone. "Come this way, please."

Somewhat astonished, the youth followed the man into a side apartment.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I want to know what your game is," was the cool response. "You haven't put up a cent, and that mustache of yours is false. I have an idea you are a spy."



CHAPTER XXII.

HAL MEETS LAURA SUMNER.

Hal was somewhat taken aback by the statement made to him by one of the proprietors of the resort he had entered, but he quickly recovered.

"It is true the mustache is false, but it is not true that I am spying upon you," he said.

And this was true, for he cared nothing as to what took place in the resort so long as it did not appertain to Mr. Allen or Hardwick.

"That's easy enough to say, but how can you prove it?" was the short reply.

"Is it necessary to prove it?" returned Hal, just as quickly.

"Well, the case is just here, we don't want spies around here."

Hal could not help but smile.

"Do you know how I learned of this resort?" he asked.

"One of the dudes who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut told you, I suppose."

"No. An old apple-stand fellow told me."

"Is that true?"

"It is. So if the police wanted to stop you they could easily do so."

The proprietor muttered something under his breath.

"Well, you are sure you don't intend to give us away, then?"

"I do not."

"What brought you?"

"Curiosity concerning a fellow who played here."

"What fellow?"

"Mr. Caleb Allen."

"What! the man who just left?"

"Yes."

"Are you spotting him?"

"Excuse me, but that's my business. He has gone, and with your permission I will follow him."

The man looked at Hal for a second in silence.

"I'll trust you, for you have the right kind of eyes. You are following Allen for a purpose, but that's none of my affair. When you go just forget all about this place, unless you want to come in some time and try a hand."

"Thank you, I don't gamble," and without another word Hal left the room and hurried down stairs.

A hasty look into the various rooms convinced him that Allen had left the building, and then Hal lost no time in doing likewise.

What he had seen disgusted him beyond measure.

"How men can stay up all night and gamble in a place like that I can't understand," he murmured to himself. "I would rather be in bed and asleep. And it stands to reason the proprietors have the best of it, otherwise how could they run such a gorgeous house?"

Hal was soon on the snow-covered pavement.

He looked up and down, but Allen was nowhere in sight.

"It is no use to try to follow him any farther to-night," thought the youth. "I may as well get home and get some sleep—but, no, I can't do that. I must find a new boarding house, and go under a different name for the present. One thing is sure. Mr. Allen can't gamble in that fashion with what he makes honestly. He and Hardwick are a couple of deep rogues, and that's all there is to it, and Dick Ferris and that Macklin are their tools."

It was now too late to hunt up a regular boarding place, and upon second thought Hal resolved for the present to put up at one of the cheap hotels.

This he did, and slept soundly until morning.

When he slouched into the office at ten o'clock, still wearing the false mustache and Jack McCabe's hat, Mr. Sumner did not at first recognize him.

"What do you want?" he asked, from the book-keeper's desk, where he was busy instructing the new man in his work.

"I wish to see you in private, sir," was Hal's reply, and he winked.

For a second Mr. Sumner was puzzled. Then he smiled and led the way to his private office.

"Hal, I hardly knew you!" he burst out, the instant the door was closed.

"I hardly know myself, Mr. Sumner," was the youth's reply.

"The mustache is almost a complete disguise."

"I have news for you. Mr. Allen was not in Philadelphia yesterday."

"No? Where, then?"

"He spent a great part of the time in the evening in a gambling-house uptown."

"You are certain?"

"Yes, sir. I followed him into the place and watched him play."

"Humph! Did he win?"

"No, sir, he lost heavily."

Horace Sumner gave something like a groan.

"I am being deceived on all sides," he said. "If a man is a gambler he is often something worse. How about Hardwick?"

"I have reason to believe he went home last night. He gave a note to Dick Ferris and I followed Ferris. It nearly cost me my life."

And Hal related the particulars. Horace Sumner listened with keen interest. When he learned how Hal had been struck down, and afterward found himself in the icy vat, he shuddered.

"That will never do," he cried. "Hal, you must give up running such risks. I would not have you lose your life for all the bonds in New York. We will call in one of the regular detectives and——"

"No, Mr. Sumner, I started on my theory and I wish to finish the work. I did not know how desperate the men were with whom I have to deal, but in the future I shall be prepared for them. And I wish to ask a favor."

"What is it?"

"Will you advance me a little money? I may need it in traveling around, and my disguises may cost——"

"You shall have what you please, Hal. You are the only one I have in the office to depend on, and you are doing a remarkable work for one so young."

"If you will let me have, say ten or fifteen dollars——"

"Here are fifty," returned Mr. Sumner, handing over five crisp ten-dollar bills. "When you need more let me know."

"But—but I won't want this much!" gasped Hal.

"Yes, you will, if you are determined to go ahead. Don't let dollars stand in the way. Why, I have already spent one hundred and fifty dollars on the detectives, and they have done absolutely nothing."

Without another word Hal pocketed the bills. As he did so there was a knock on the door, then it was flung open and a girl rushed in.

She was apparently a year or two younger than Hal, and had blue eyes, light hair, and a remarkably pretty face. She rushed up to Mr. Sumner and kissed him.

"Oh, papa, why didn't you tell me?" she burst out, with something like a sob in her voice.

"Tell you what, pet?" asked Mr. Sumner with a shadow on his face.

"About all those bonds being gone. Lucy Cavaler mentioned it to me this morning when I called on her to go shopping. Have you got them back?"

"Not yet, pet."

"And who stole them?"

"I don't know. This young man and I have just been trying to find out."

The girl turned to Hal, who took off his hat, bowed, and then blushed furiously.

"This is Mr. Hal Carson, one of my employees," went on Mr. Sumner. "Hal, this is my daughter, Laura."

Laura Sumner extended her hand, and Hal took it. Their eyes met, and from that instant the two were friends.

"You are trying to help papa find the stolen bonds?" she said.

"Yes, Miss Sumner."

"He has done some excellent work on the case," said Mr. Sumner. "He is disguised now, as you can see," he added, with a faint smile, which made poor Hal blush again.

"Oh, I trust you get the bonds back for papa," cried Laura. "If you do, I'll be friends with you for life."

"It's a whack—I mean a bargain," returned Hal, and then both laughed.

"But you haven't told me why you did not mention the matter to me, papa," went on Laura, turning to Horace Sumner.

"I did not wish to worry you, pet. Since your mother died you have had enough on your shoulders running the household."

"And haven't you had more than your share, papa, with troubles in the office, and trying to find a trace of baby Howard?"

"I have given up all hopes of ever learning of the fate of my little boy," sighed Mr. Sumner, and as he spoke a tear stole down his cheek, which he hastily brushed away.



CHAPTER XXIII.

HAL'S BOLD SCHEME.

Hal could not help but feel a keen interest in the conversation between Mr. Sumner and his daughter. Evidently there was some deep family sorrow behind the words that had been uttered.

He stood respectfully by until Laura turned to him suddenly.

"Excuse me, but I suppose I interrupted you when I came in."

"No, I had about finished," replied Hal. "You have no further instructions?" he continued, turning to Mr. Sumner.

"No, save that you must keep from trouble, Hal."

"I will keep my eyes open, sir."

"Then that is all."

"For the present, you will get along without me in the office, I hope."

"Yes. The new book-keeper is a very rapid man, and we shall not attempt to do anything more until Mr. Allen and I dissolve partnership."

"Then I will go. Good-day, Miss Sumner," and with a deep bow Hal withdrew.

"What a nice young man!" murmured Laura, as the outer door closed.

"He is little more than a boy, pet," said her father. "That mustache he wears is a false one."

"Why, papa?"

"He is playing a part. He is a very smart young man."

"I am glad to hear it. Where did you meet him?"

"It was he who saved my life the night I told you of."

"Indeed! That was grand of him. But, papa," Laura's voice grew serious, "these missing bonds—are they going—going to ruin you?"

Horace Sumner turned away.

"If they are not recovered, yes," he answered, in a low tone.

"My poor papa!"

"They are worth seventy-nine thousand dollars, and that, coupled with some bad investments made through Allen, will send me to the wall."

"Can nothing be done to get the bonds back?"

"I am doing everything I can. Besides Carson, there are two regular detectives from the department on the case, and a private man from the agency."

"Then all together ought to bring in a good result."

"We will hope for the best, Laura," said the old broker, bravely.

"If you do not recover the bonds, cannot you get outside help to tide over the crisis?"

"I could have done so years ago. But I find that I made a big mistake in going into partnership with Caleb Allen. While many are willing to help me individually, they do not trust Allen, and therefore will not now assist me."

"Is Mr. Allen, then, such a bad man?"

"I don't know how bad he is. He is in with Hardwick, so Carson says, and Hardwick is a villain."

At the mention of the ex-book-keeper's name, Laura drew herself up.

"I never liked him, papa, and I am glad to find that you have discovered his true character."

Horace Sumner looked in surprise at his daughter.

"Why, pet, I do not understand you."

"Then let me tell you something. For the past two months Mr. Hardwick has been paying his addresses to me, and—"

"Laura!"

"Yes, it's so. I did not mention it to you, because I did not wish to humiliate him. I told him there was no hope for him, and asked him to drop the matter."

"And has the villain done so?"

"Partly, but he frequently follows me about when he gets the chance, and I do not like it."

"If he does so in the future I'll cowhide him," cried Horace Sumner. "But I have discovered his true character, and sent him off, and in the future I imagine he will not dare approach you."

"If he does not, I will be thankful, papa."

Horace Sumner passed his hand over his brow, and heaved a deep sigh.

"Everything seems to go wrong of late years," he said. "The disappearance of little Howard has undermined my whole prosperity."

"And you have given up looking for him?" questioned Laura.

"Yes. What is the use? I have had detectives on the case for years, and it has cost me thousands of dollars."

"And they have learned nothing?"

"Nothing further than that a man took the child to Philadelphia."

"They could not trace him in that city?"

"No. The half-decomposed body of a man was found, a month later, in the Schuylkill River, and the detectives thought it must be his remains."

"But there was no child with him?"

"No, nor had the police seen anything of the little one."

"Howard must be dead," said Laura, softly, and her blue eyes filled with tears.

"I am afraid so," returned the father; and then the subject changed.

Meanwhile Hal had left the outer office and hurried up Nassau Street in the direction of Park Row. On a previous visit to this vicinity he had noticed a first-class costumer's establishment, where everything in the shape of a disguise could be bought.

At the door he hesitated for a moment, and then entered with a brisk step.

A fat, pleasant-looking man came to wait on him.

"I wish to obtain a perfect disguise," Hal explained. "Something for my face, besides some clothing."

"Yes, sir. What sort of a character?"

"A young business man."

"Please step this way."

Hal stepped to the rear of the establishment. Here fully half an hour was spent in selecting this thing and that, and trying the effect before the mirror.

At last the business was finished, and Hal came forth looking for all the world like a spruce clerk of twenty or twenty-two. He wore a silken mustache and small mutton-chop whiskers, and the color of his skin was several shades paler than was natural.

The cheap suit and overcoat he had worn were cast aside, and a nobby check outfit took their place.

"Gracious! I hardly know myself!" he murmured. "This ought to deceive almost anybody."

Hal had only rented the things. He was to pay two dollars a day for them, besides leaving a deposit of forty dollars for their safe return.

When this transaction was finished the youth visited a hardware store, and there bought a pistol and some cartridges.

"Now, I imagine I am ready for them," he said to himself. "Although I sincerely hope I will not have occasion to draw the pistol."

Once out on the sidewalk Hal did not know exactly how to proceed. He was about to take an elevated train to Allen's house uptown, when looking toward the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, he caught sight of Dick Ferris standing at the foot of the elevated railroad stairs, smoking his usual cigarette.

Hal approached him, and then passed by. Ferris looked at him, but not the faintest gleam of recognition passed over his features.

"He is deceived, at any rate," thought Hal. "I wonder if he is waiting for somebody, or merely hanging around? I think I will remain for a while and find out."

Hal crossed Park Row, and took up a stand by the railing to City Hall Park. A gang of men were clearing off the snow, and the street-cars and wagons were running in all directions, making the scene a lively one.

Presently an elevated train rolled in at the station, and in a moment a stream of people came down the stairs on both sides of the street.

Hal saw Ferris straighten up, and keep his eyes on the crowd.

"That settles it; he is looking for somebody," was Hal's mental conclusion. "Now, I'll wait and see if it isn't Hardwick."

The crowd passed by. Ferris had met no one, and he resumed his old stand, and puffed away as before.

Presently another train rolled in. Again Ferris watched out. In a moment he had halted a man wrapped up in an immense ulster, and with his hat pulled far down over his eyes.

Hal once more crossed the street. He passed Ferris, and saw that the man the tall boy had stopped was Caleb Allen.

Hal was surprised at this. He was under the impression that Allen used the Sixth Avenue elevated to come down from his home. Had the broker spent the night away from home, instead of going to that place after leaving the gambling den?

Standing not over fifteen feet away, Hal saw Ferris talk earnestly to Allen for fully five minutes. Then the broker put his hand in his vest pocket, and passed over several bank bills. This was followed by a small package from his overcoat pocket, which the tall boy quickly placed in his breast.

"I wonder what that package contains?" mused Hal, as the two separated.

Allen continued on the way downtown, calling a cab for that purpose. Hal felt certain the broker was going to the office, so there was no use of following him for the present.

He turned to Ferris and saw the tall youth stride up Park Row, and then turn into a side street.

"Is it possible he is going to see Macklin again?" was Hal's comment.

Such seemed to be Ferris' purpose, and it left Hal in perplexity as to whether he should follow or not.

Then he thought of his mission, and a bold plan came into his mind.

"I will follow," he said to himself. "The only way to get at the bottom of the tin box mystery is to learn of all the plans this band of evil-doers form."



CHAPTER XXIV.

HAL IN A NEW ROLE.

Instead of continuing toward the East River, Dick Ferris soon turned northward and presently reached Grand Street.

This neighborhood was entirely new to Hal, and he was at once satisfied that the tall boy was not going to pay a visit to Tommy Macklin.

Passing down Grand Street, Ferris presently came to a tall, white building, with a large open hall-way, the entrance to which was covered on either side with signs.

Entering the hall-way, Ferris mounted the stairs to the third floor, and then passed to a small office in the rear.

Hal was not far behind, and he had no difficulty in locating the apartment Ferris entered.

The upper part of the office door contained a ground-glass panel, upon which was painted in black letters:

ROBERT E. HAMILTON, FINE LAW AND BLANK PRINTING.

For a second Hal studied how to get into the place, but soon an idea struck him, and he lost no time in entering.

He saw Ferris in earnest conversation at a small counter, which ran across the office, which was narrow but quite deep. Hal edged up and listened to what passed between the tall youth and a man in charge.