Part 18 (1/2)

”This is the worst go I've struck yet,” said Bob to himself, as he meditated over his situation. ”Jest as I thought everything was all fixed, this blamed old lock knocks me out. Well, I've pulled through pretty good so far, and I won't give it up yet. I may strike an idea,”

he continued, undismayed, and then commenced prowling stealthily about the room, in search of something--anything that would serve his purpose.

He thought if he could find the key to the hall door he would try to make his escape from the building; and, once out, he could get matches, and whatever else he needed to aid him in carrying out his scheme to a grand success. But he was no more fortunate in this effort than he had been in hunting for the key to the trap door.

He searched, too, every nook and corner for a match, but failed utterly to find one, or anything to keep his courage good. The situation began to look alarming to him. He was now as much a prisoner as Herbert Randolph.

”I wonder what Tom Flannery would do if he was in my place?” mused the young detective, as he sat upon the floor, somewhat depressed in spirits. ”I think he'd just lay down and bawl and throw up the whole game, that's what Tom Flannery would do. But I ain't goin' to throw up no game till it's lost, not ef Bob Hunter knows himself. There ain't but one thing to do now, and that's to go into old Gunwagner's bedroom, and take them keys outer his pocket, that's what I think. Ef he was to wake up, tho', and catch me at it--well, I guess I wouldn't be in the detective business no more. But--what's that noise?” said he to himself, suddenly becoming aware of a strange sound.

Our young detective felt a cold chill creep over him. His first thought was that the old fence was coming into his presence, and would of course capture him and punish him most inhumanly. But as the slight noise continued, and Gunwagner did not appear, Bob took courage, and listened keenly for developments. Presently the sound came nearer, and now a gleam of light shone up through a crack in the floor.

”Can it be Vermont?” said Bob to himself, hardly believing his own eyes.

Still nearer came the light.

”He is climbing the stairs, as sure's I'm alive,” said Bob, almost overcome with joy.

In the trap door was a small knot hole, about an inch and a half in diameter. Through this opening the light now shone distinctly, and it was most welcome to the eyes of our young detective. A pressure was now brought to bear upon the door from the under side, but it only yielded so far as the fastening would allow.

”Is that you, Vermont?” whispered Bob through the knot hole.

No answer was given.

Herbert Randolph had never considered himself in any degree superst.i.tious. But what could this be but Bob Hunter's spirit?

”Don't be afraid,” said the young detective, who imagined Herbert would find it difficult to realize that he was there. ”It's Bob Hunter. I ain't got no card with me, or I'd send it down to you.”

This remark sounded so much like Bob that young Randolph no longer doubted his own senses.

”Bob Hunter!” exclaimed he. ”How in the world came you here, and what are you doing?”

”Yes, it's me, Vermont. But don't stop to ask no questions now. I'm here to help you get out, but this blamed old door is locked, and I hain't got no key, nor no light, nor nothin'.”

After exchanging a few words, Herbert took from his pocket a piece of paper. This he made into a taper, which he lighted and pa.s.sed up through the knot hole to Bob. With this the latter lighted the gas; and now he felt that he was in a position to be of some service to his friend.

A careful search failed to reveal any keys. Then the two boys discussed the situation, and presently Herbert pa.s.sed a bent nail to the young detective, and instructed him how to operate on the lock, which speedily yielded to the boy's efforts. In another instant the trap door was thrown up, and, by a most unfortunate blunder, it fell back with a tremendous crash.

Herbert, however, emerged quickly from his cold, damp prison, with a look of consternation pictured upon his face. Both he and Bob knew that old Gunwagner would be upon them in less than a minute, and they hastily prepared to defend themselves.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE OLD FENCE IN A TRAP.

”What shall we do?” said Bob, with no little alarm, as Herbert Randolph climbed up through the old trap door.

”We must defend ourselves,” replied the young Vermonter, with characteristic firmness.

”There ain't no way to escape, is there?”