Part 36 (1/2)

This meeting was not at all to his taste, especially when he and his brothers wished to turn their whole attention to locating Mrs. Stanhope and her enemies.

”Have you been following us?” demanded Bart Larkspur.

”No, Larkspur, we have something of more importance to do,” answered Tom.

”Huh! you needn't get gay, Rover!”

”I'll get gay if I wish,” retorted Tom, sharply.

”You had better not follow us,” came in ugly tones from Jerry Koswell.

”If you do you'll get yourselves in hot water.”

”See here, Koswell, and you too, Larkspur,” said d.i.c.k, in a low but distinct tone. ”We know all about what you did at Brill-and so do the authorities know it. Just at present we haven't time to bother with you.

But some day we may get after you.”

”Bah! you can't scare me!” snorted Koswell. Yet his face showed that he was disturbed.

”Are you staying in Boston?” asked Sam, somewhat curiously.

”No, we are bound for a trip up the coast to--”

”Shut up, Jerry, don't tell 'em where we are going,” interrupted Larkspur. ”It's none of their business.”

”Some day we'll get after you,” said d.i.c.k. ”Now we've got to leave you,”

he added, as the car conductor called out the name of Varmolet street, as d.i.c.k had requested him to do.

”You keep your distance!” shouted Koswell after the Rover boys.

”We are not afraid of you!” added Larkspur, and then the car went on again, and the two former students of Brill were lost to view.

”They are off on some kind of a trip,” said Sam. ”Evidently they have quite some money.”

”More money than brains,” returned Tom, bluntly. ”If their folks don't take 'em in hand, they'll both end up in prison some day.”

”Koswell mentioned a trip up the coast,” said d.i.c.k. ”They must be going up to Portland and Cas...o...b..y, or further.”

”I'd like to go to Cas...o...b..y myself,” said Sam. ”It's a beautiful spot, with its islands. Tom Favor was telling me all about it. He spent three summers there.”

They had alighted at the corner of Varmolet street and now started to look for No. 234. They had to walk two blocks, past houses that were disreputable in the extreme.

”I don't like the look of this neighborhood,” remarked Sam, as they hurried along. ”I'd hate to visit it after dark.”

”Think of what Mrs. Stanhope must be suffering, if they brought her to such a spot,” returned d.i.c.k, and could not help shuddering.

Presently they reached No. 234, an old three-storied house, with a dingy front porch, and with solid wooden shutters, the majority of which were tightly closed. Not a soul was in sight around the place.

”Don't ring any bell,” warned Sam. ”If those rascals are here they may take the alarm and skip out.”

”There isn't any bell to ring,” answered Tom, grimly. ”There was once an old-fas.h.i.+oned knocker, but it has been broken off.”