Ned Wilding's Disappearance: or, The Darewell Chums in the City

There was a gate, opening from the yard to the street, and Ned decided some one had either seen or heard the valise drop and had slipped in and stolen it.

“Now I am in a pickle,” the lad murmured. “No baggage, not even a clean collar, only a little over four dollars left” (for he had taken one from his pocketbook to leave for his room rent), “and I can’t even tell the police I’ve been robbed. If I do they’ll question me and find out I’m wanted for that stock matter. I certainly am up against it. But I guess I’d better get away from here. That detective may go to my room, discover that I’ve gone, and make a search.”

Ned peered out of the gate. The street was deserted at that moment. With a hasty look up at the window of his room he had just left, and from which the rope still dangled, Ned, in worse plight than he had been before, hurried away. Once more he felt himself an outcast, without a place to go.

“When they see that rope they’ll suspect I’m some sort of a criminal,” he reflected bitterly. “What a lot of trouble a fellow can get into without meaning it,” he reflected. “This is the last time I’ll ever buy stocks or bonds on my own responsibility. I guess dad can manage finances until I learn the ropes a little better.”

He walked on, not knowing whither he was bound. He emerged from the side street to one of the main thoroughfares. There he mingled with the crowds, believing, that for the present at least, he was safe from pursuit.

“But I’ve got to stay somewhere to-night,” he told himself. “I can’t walk the streets forever. I wonder if there isn’t some place where I can get a bed without having to answer a lot of questions about myself?”

As he walked along an illuminated sign, on a building across the street, attracted his attention. It informed those who cared to know that the place was the “Owl Lodging House,” and that single beds could be had for fifteen cents a night, or a room including the privilege of a bath, for twenty-five cents.

“That about fits my pocketbook,” Ned reasoned. “Twenty-five cents a night is cheaper than a dollar, and I’ve got to be saving. I wonder if it’s clean? It seems like living in a tenement house, but I s’pose lots of men have to. I’ll try it anyhow. If I don’t like the looks of it I can leave.”

He walked up the stairs. Certainly the place would not have taken a prize for cleanliness but then, Ned reflected, beggars must not be choosers. He emerged into a big room, lighted by several gas jets, and seemingly filled with men in chairs who were lolling about in all sorts of attitudes. Some were asleep and some were reading newspapers. As Ned stood irresolutely gazing on the scene his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice.

“Well, young man, do you want a room or a bed?”

“Have you any rooms left?” asked Ned, turning to see a man staring at him from a small window in an office built against one side of the apartment.

“Lots of ’em,” replied the clerk of the lodging house. “Twenty-five cents. Pay in advance. This isn’t the Waldorf-Astoria.”

Ned handed a quarter through the half circular opening and received in return a key with a big brass tag.

“Do I register?” asked Ned, hoping that he would not have to put down another false name.

“Register nothin’,” the clerk replied. “They go by numbers here. Yours is seventeen,” and Ned, looking at the tag on his key, saw what the clerk meant.

“I’m glad there’s no thirteen in this,” the boy thought. “How do I get to my room?” he asked.

“Right along the corridor. You can’t miss it. Go on until you strike the right number and go in. Do you snore?”

“No. Why?”

“Because there is a man in the next room to you who says he’ll punch my face in, if I put any one near him who snores. It’s all right. Go ahead. If you want a bath it’s the last room at the end of the hall, but you have to furnish your own soap and towels.”

“That settles the bath question,” thought Ned; “that is unless I dry myself on a pocket handkerchief, and I guess I’d better save that.”

“Lock your door,” the clerk called after him. “We’re not responsible for anything stolen from the rooms.”

Ned had not expected much for twenty-five cents, and the small room, the little narrow iron cot, and the scanty supply of coverings did not disappoint him. The room was merely separated from the others, in the row of which it was, by partitions that did not extend all the way to the ceiling. Ned sat down on the chair and gazed about him. He could hear men in the next rooms breathing heavily. It was rather chilly for there was no fire in the bedrooms.

“I can use my overcoat for a blanket,” Ned inadvertently spoke aloud. The next moment a voice, from the room on his left startled him.

“Hello, in seventeen!” called a man.

“Well?” asked Ned.

“Do you snore?”

“No.”

“All right. If you do there’ll be trouble. I’m a light sleeper.”

Ned wondered who his unseen questioner was, but he was too tired to care much.

He undressed, and crawled into bed. His overcoat answered well for a blanket, and soon he began to feel warm and drowsy, in spite of his strange surroundings.

He must have slept for several hours when he was suddenly awakened by a pounding on his door.

“What is it? Is the place afire?” he called, sitting up in bed.

“Fire nothing! I want my money you took!” It was the voice of the man who had asked him if he snored.

“I haven’t your money,” Ned answered, thinking the man might be a lunatic.

“Yes, you have! You sneaked into my room and took it! I woke up just in time! Open the door or I’ll break it down!”

Ned sprang from his bed and turned the key. The door flew open and a big man with a red moustache entered.

“Give me my money!” he demanded, striding up to Ned.

CHAPTER XXI

NED FLEES AGAIN

“I tell you I haven’t your money!” exclaimed Ned. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean well enough! I had a lot of dollar bills under my pillow! You sneaked in and took them! I want my money!”

“And I tell you I haven’t it and didn’t take it!” Ned repeated. “This is my room, and you’d better get out of it!”

“Not until I have my money! Where is it?”

He lifted a pillow from Ned’s bed. Under it were four one dollar bills which Ned had placed there before he went to sleep.

“Here’s part of it, anyhow!” the man exclaimed. “I want the rest now! Fork it over!”

“That’s my money!” cried Ned, as the red-moustached man took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket.

“Your money! A likely story! Anybody with as much money as that would never stop in a place like this.”

“How did you happen to stop here then?” asked Ned quickly.

“Me? Why young impudence, I’m the proprietor of this lodging house! I live here! That’s why. Hey, Bill!” he called in a loud voice, “come here. There’s trouble.”

In answer to the summons a big man, evidently the night porter or watchman, came shuffling down the corridor.

“What’s the trouble, boss?” he asked, and Ned began to believe the man had spoken the truth when he said he was the proprietor of the place.

“Why, here’s a kid comes into my room when I’m asleep and takes my cash right from under my pillow. I wake up just in time to see him sneak back into his room and when I get him with the goods on him he has the impudence to deny it. There’s part of the cash,” and he showed Ned’s money, “but I want the rest. Better call a policeman, Bill.”

“All right, boss. Just as you say,” and the porter shuffled off.

“Do you mean to say you’re going to have me arrested on a charge of stealing your money?” asked Ned.

“That’s what I am unless you give it up.”

“But I didn’t take it. It must have been some one else, if you really were robbed. Why don’t you look in some of the other rooms along here?”

“Because I saw you come in here after you were in my room, and had your hand under my pillow.”

“Couldn’t you be mistaken?”

“Not much. I’ve been in this business too long. ’Tisn’t the first time I’ve been robbed, but it’s the first time I got the thief and I’m goin’ to make an example of you.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Ned said, trying to speak bravely, but the accusation, unjust as it was, coupled with his other misfortunes was almost too much for him.

“I’ll take the chances on that. Who are you, anyhow? What’s your name, and where’d you come from?”

Ned hesitated. If he gave his real name it might lead to trouble over the stock, in case the proprietor carried out the threat to have him arrested. He was not used to telling untruths and he was afraid if he gave a false name he would soon betray himself. Still it seemed the best thing to do and would harm no one save himself.

“My name’s George Anderson,” he said boldly. “Where I came from is none of your affair.”

“Afraid to tell, eh? Well, the judge will soon have it out of you.”

It was quite cold now, and Ned, standing half dressed as he was in the room, began to shiver. He put on his clothes.

“Guess that’s a wise thing to do,” the proprietor of the lodging house remarked. “You’ll get a ride in the hurry-up wagon soon.”

The words struck a chill of terror to Ned’s heart. Must he spend the rest of the night in a cell? The man’s manner showed no relenting. He either believed Ned had robbed him or was insisting on the charge for some reason of his own.

“Are you in earnest about this?” asked Ned, as he put on his hat and overcoat.

“You can make up your mind to that,” was the man’s answer. “It’ll be the jail for yours, in a little while, if you don’t give me back my money. It isn’t too late. I can fix it with the cop if you’ll give up. Why look here, kid, they’ll search you and find it on you. You haven’t had time to hide it, and, besides, there’s no place in this room. You must have it on you. Give it up and save trouble.”

“I haven’t your money,” Ned said boldly. “Those bills you took from under the pillow were mine. You can search me now if you want to. That is all the money I have except a little change in my overcoat pocket,” and he showed the man.

“That don’t go with me. I’m sure you robbed me. I’ll not search you or you’d say I was up to some game, and nobody ever said but what Jim Cassidy was honest, though he does keep a cheap lodging house. No, sir, the cop’ll search you.”

Ned knew the officer would find nothing – except the stock certificate. There was the trouble. Ned thought every officer in New York had a description of it and was looking for the boy who carried it. No, he couldn’t allow himself to be searched.

“It’s cold!” exclaimed Cassidy suddenly, as he shivered in his long nightrobe. “I’m goin’ to get dressed. Better not try to run or I’ll nab you. I’ll be in the next room.”

He went into his own apartment and Ned could hear him putting on his clothes. By the grunts and puffs that ensued he judged Cassidy was having hard work, as he was a large man, and putting on a shirt was no easy matter.

Then a daring plan came into Ned’s mind. In spite of the excitement caused by the proprietor’s entrance into his room and the loud talking that followed the accusation, none of the other lodgers had gotten up. Even sending the porter for a policeman had not excited any curiosity.

Ned resolved to make his escape if possible. He thought he could slip past Cassidy’s door and down the stairs before Bill would return with a policeman. He got upon the bed and looked over the partition into Cassidy’s room. The proprietor was putting on his shoes and had his back to the door. There was a light at the far end of the corridor, illuminating it dimly.

Ned took off his own shoes, and, carrying them in his hand stepped to the door of his room. He stole softly into the corridor and was about to slip past Cassidy’s room when the door of the apartment opposite his opened just a crack and a hoarse voice whispered:

“Hey, cully! If youse wants t’ make a git-away, go de other way an’ down de back stairs. Youse kin slip around through de alley an’ inter de street ’fore de cop comes. I heard what youse said and ye sounds honest, an’ dat’s more’n ye kin say fer a lot in dis joint. Quick, some one’s comin’ up de front stairs!”

Then, before Ned could thank his unknown friend, the door was shut. Ned could hear Cassidy getting up from the chair on which he had seated himself to lace his shoes. There was not a moment to spare.

Making no sound in his stocking feet, Ned hurried down the dark corridor, away from the front of the building. He had to trust almost entirely to feeling, as the gleam from the single lamp farther toward the front stairs did not penetrate thus far. He did not even know where the rear flight was, but trusted to luck to find them. With his hand stretched out in front of him, to avoid running into any obstructions he went on as fast as he could. Suddenly he turned a corner in the passage and saw a dim light. Then he observed a flight of stairs leading downward. He listened a moment. Behind him he could hear the tramp of heavy feet, and guessed that Bill had returned with the policeman.

Ned hurried down the stairs. He stopped only long enough, when he reached the bottom, to put his shoes on, but did not lace them. He only tucked the ends of the strings into the tops so they would not dangle and trip him if he had to run. Then Ned stepped from the hallway into the dark and deserted street. Once more, though entirely innocent, he had been obliged to flee from officers of the law.

“It’s getting to be a habit with me,” he said grimly, as he hurried along.

What happened back in the lodging house he did not know and he cared less. That his flight would seem a confession of guilt he was sure; but what did it matter?

It was cold and dark and cheerless in the streets. He was a night wanderer, with no place to go, and, as far as he knew, not a friend in the big city.

“I guess I’ll have to walk the streets all night,” poor Ned thought. “I haven’t much money left.” He felt in the pocket of his overcoat, and counted the change. There was less than a dollar.

“Have to take fifteen cent beds after this,” he remarked to himself. “As for eating I guess I’ll have to cut that out altogether.”

He walked through several thoroughfares. Not a soul did he meet save once as he passed a policeman the officer stared at him suspiciously. But Ned still had his good clothes with him, and his overcoat though crumpled from being used as a bed-spread, made him look decent enough to pass muster in the neighborhood where he was.

“I think I’ll find another lodging house and get a bed,” he said to himself. “I must get a little rest if I am to look for work to-morrow.”

He had no difficulty in finding a place, for there were many such nearby. He got a fifteen cent bed, in a room where scores of other men and youths were sleeping. His entrance excited no comment, and, in fact, few were awake to notice his arrival.

Ned was so tired he fell asleep with most of his clothes on. He had little fear of being robbed for he had little left to take. He got a frugal breakfast the next morning and started out to search for work.

But New York seemed to be overflowing with men and boys on the same errand. Every place where Ned applied, either from seeing a sign “Boy Wanted,” or by getting the address from a newspaper he bought, had been taken or else he would not fill the bill. All day long he tramped, spending a few cents for some buns and coffee at a lunch stand. At night, tired and discouraged, he went back to the lodging house where he had last stayed, and again got a fifteen cent bed.

“To-morrow’s Thursday,” thought Ned, as he crawled under his overcoat, which he once more used as a blanket. “I wonder if the boys arrived to-day? What could they have thought when they saw the house closed? Oh, I wish I could find them. If this keeps on I’ll have to pawn my overcoat for something to eat, and it looks as if it would snow to-morrow. What a pickle I’m in!”

Then, in spite of his troubles he fell asleep, for he was very tired.

CHAPTER XXII

OUT IN THE STORM

The telegram from Ned’s father, which the three chums received that Wednesday evening, telling them their friend was not at his home in Darewell, was a great shock to them.

“Why,” remarked Bart, as he picked up the message he had dropped, “it hardly seems possible. I wonder where in the world he can be. He starts for home but he never arrives.”

“Are we sure he started for home?” asked Frank.

“Why of course,” Fenn answered. “Didn’t the telegram from Mrs. Kenfield say so?”

“She would hardly know,” Frank went on. “Ned’s train for Darewell wouldn’t leave until four o’clock. The timetable shows that. According to what the woman who lives next door to Mrs. Kenfield told us, Ned’s aunt started away before noon. Her train must have left about that time, so Ned couldn’t have gotten away from New York, if he left at all, until after his aunt had started for Chicago. Consequently though she may have seen him leave the depot where she was, with the intention of going back to Darewell, that’s no proof that he really went back home.”

“That’s so,” admitted Bart, struck with the force of Frank’s reasoning. “But where then can he be?”

“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” said Fenn.

“How are we going to do it?” Bart inquired.

“I think Ned’s right here in New York,” Frank went on. “Now look at it. His aunt goes away unexpectedly and closes the house up. It would seem natural for Ned to go back home, but we find out he has not. He doesn’t know any one else in this part of the country, or he would have told us. Consequently he has not gone to any other city. Therefore he must be in New York.”

“But why would he stay here?” insisted Bart.

“Probably for the same reason we’re going to, in order to see the sights.”

“Then why didn’t he send some word home to let his father know?” Bart asked. “Mr. Wilding wouldn’t be starting for New York if he knew Ned was safe here. Ned hasn’t communicated with his father, that’s sure.”

“I forgot about that,” Frank admitted. “That makes it look different.”

“Maybe something has happened to him,” suggested Fenn.

“Don’t look for trouble, Stumpy,” remarked Bart. “It’s bad enough as it is.”

“However I still think Ned is in New York,” Frank went on. “He may be sick or he may have been hurt, which would prevent him communicating with us, or with his father. But that he’s in this city I’m sure. Now the thing for us to do is to find him.”

“But how?” asked Fenn.

“There are dozens of ways. We must communicate with the police and ask their help.”

“Ned wouldn’t like that,” interposed Bart. “He’s not a criminal.”

“Of course not,” Frank answered. “But the police have to help find lots of persons who are not criminals. If Ned’s in trouble we want to know it as soon as possible so we can help him.”

“Then the sooner we start the better,” suggested Bart. “Where ought we to begin?”

“Let’s ask the agent here at the station where Ned’s train came in,” Frank said. “Perhaps he may have noticed him.”

“Not likely,” replied Bart. “Too many passengers coming and going.”

They made some inquiries, but, as Bart had said, there were too many arrivals and departures for the agent to have taken particular note of a boy among a thousand others.

“That settles one end of it,” remarked Fenn, as they were about to leave the depot. “Let’s arrange to stop at some hotel. We’re going to be here several days, very likely.”

“So we are,” Frank replied. “Hold on! Wait a minute! I’ve just thought of something.”

“What?” asked Bart.

“The baggage room. We can find out if there are any trunks from Darewell, besides our own, that have not been called for. Besides I know Ned’s when I see it.”

They hurried to the baggage agent and told him what they wanted. He soon ascertained from his records that four trunks had come in from Darewell in the last few days. Three were those of the three chums, which had arrived that noon.

“I’ve got one other,” the agent said. “It came in Monday, and there are storage charges on it now.”

“Can we look at it?” asked Frank.

The agent showed it to them.

“That’s Ned’s trunk!” cried Frank. “We’re on the track. He hasn’t left New York, that’s sure. Has any one called for that trunk?” he asked the agent.

“No, but I wish they would. It’s in the way here.”

“Could you let us know in case any one does call?” Frank went on, giving his reasons for the request. “We’ll pay you for your trouble.”

“I s’pose I could. Where’ll you be?”

“We ought to stop at some hotel near here,” Frank suggested. “Then we can come here quickly if we get a message.”

“Do you know of a good hotel near here?” asked Bart of the agent.

“There’s the Imperial a few blocks up the street. It’s not especially good, but it’s respectable. I guess you could stop there.”

“That will do,” Frank said. “We’ll get rooms there. We will send for our trunks, and you can telephone us in case that other one is called for.”

He gave the man a couple of dollars to pay for his trouble, and for any telephone messages he might have to send, and then the three chums went to the same hotel where Ned had stopped.

The same clerk was on duty who had been there when Ned registered, and he seemed rather surprised at the three well dressed youths who entered. Usually the Imperial, in spite of its name, did not attract such a class of patrons. The boys bargained for three connecting rooms, and, as they had plenty of money were given good apartments on the second floor.

“Register,” the clerk said, swinging the book around to them.

As Bart took the pen to write his name, he looked at the book and gave a start.

“I thought first that was Ned’s writing,” he said as he looked where his chum, but a few hours before had written “Thomas Seldon.”

“Friend of yours?” asked the clerk quickly.

“I thought first it looked like the writing of a chum of mine,” Bart replied. “But it’s different I see.”

“Guess that chap doesn’t travel in your company,” the clerk went on, as the other boys put down their names.

“Why?”

“Oh, he’s a crook I guess,” and he told of the discovery of Ned’s escape down the rope. “He hasn’t done anything as far as we can learn,” the clerk went on, “but his getting out that way showed there was something wrong, though he was honest enough to leave a dollar for his room, which he didn’t occupy. However, the police would like to get him just to see why he was in such a hurry to get away.

“Funny thing, too,” the clerk continued. “He left his valise behind him. He must have lowered it out of the window by the rope, or else he threw it out. Anyway, just before we found out that he had gone, our chef went out in the back yard for a breath of air. He saw the valise lying on the ground, but didn’t take notice of the rope. He brought the satchel in and gave it to me. I was talking to a detective at the desk, one who comes in here every once in a while to see if there are any suspicious characters. I was telling him about this Seldon lad, just as the cook handed me the grip. I recognized it as the one the boy had when he came in, and got suspicious. We went to his room, but he had skipped. We’ve got the valise yet, but haven’t opened it. The police may in a few days.”

The boys slept soundly that night. They awoke in the morning to find a heavy snow storm in progress. They spent the day going from one place to another, following the advice they got at the office of the chief of police. But all to no purpose. There was no trace of Ned. They were out almost all day in the storm, which continued to get worse as night approached.

“There’s one thing we forgot,” said Frank, as they prepared to go back to the hotel for the night.

“What?” asked Fenn.

“We should have let Mr. Wilding know where we are stopping. You know he said he was coming to New York. We must send him a wire. If he has left Darewell, the bank will know his address here, and forward it to us.”

This plan, Frank’s chums decided, was a wise one. They turned toward a telegraph office which they had noticed near their hotel. As they were going down a dark side street Bart, who was in advance, stumbled over something and fell into a snow drift.

“Hurt yourself?” asked Frank.

“No. It was like falling into a feather bed, only it’s cold.”

Just then something like a groan sounded from the object Bart had stumbled over.