The Missing Tin Box: or, The Stolen Railroad Bonds

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:

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.

Ferris had a number of slips in his hand, and these the proprietor was examining with great care.

"You wish all of them duplicated?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Dick Ferris.

"It's a nice piece of work."

"I suppose it is, but the firm is willing to pay for it."

"Who are the blanks for?"

"Mr. Albert Schwartz. But I am to call for them."

"I do not know the gentleman."

"I will leave a deposit on the work," replied Ferris, promptly.

"Oh, all right! And how many of each of these blanks do you want?"

"Twenty of each."

"What! No more?"