a bit of sourness about his
manner. "I allow I could get away with him in a fair fight."

"Oh, no, you couldn't, Mort; he is too much for you. I could see that in
a minute, by the way he handled himself."

Young Mortimer's face flushed. He didn't like the comparison.

"Well, he won't bother me again very soon," said he, vindictively.

"Didn't they tumble to anything crooked at the bank?" asked Peter, after
a few moments' serious thought.

"No."

"I don't see why. The circumstances look suspicious."

"Well, they didn't suspect the truth."

"You're in luck, then, that is all I have to say."

"I shall be, you mean, when we get him out of the way."

"He seems to be pretty well out of your way now."

"But that won't last forever. He must be got out of New York, that's
all. Old Gunwagner will not keep him round very long, you may be sure of
that."

"You don't know how to shine a shoe," growled Smartweed to our young
detective. "See the blacking you have put on the upper! Wipe it off, I
say; at once, too."

Bob's blood boiled with indignation, and he was about to reply sharply,
when he remembered that he was now acting the detective, and so he said:

"All right, boss; I'll fix it fer yer;" and he removed the superfluous
blacking with great care. There was no longer any doubt in his mind
about Herbert being a prisoner. He was satisfied that his friend was in
the clutches of old Gunwagner, and he knew from the conversation that he
was in danger of being lost forever to New York and to his friends.

The situation was an alarming one. Bob pictured vividly the worst
possibilities of our hero's fate.

Presently, after young Smartweed had lighted a cigarette and taken a few
puffs, he said, absentmindedly:

"So you are going to send him away from New York?"

"Of course, you don't s'pose we would be very safe with him here, do
you?" replied Mortimer.

"Safe enough, so long as he is in old Gunwagner's cell. But what is to
be done with him? Send him back to Vermont?"

"Not much; he won't go there unless he escapes."

"It's rough on the fellow, Mort, to run him off to sea, or to make him a
prisoner in the bottom of a coal barge or canal boat. But that is what
he is likely to get from that old shark," said Peter Smartweed, meaning
Gunwagner.

"Don't you get soft hearted now," replied Felix, in a hard voice.

"I'm not soft hearted, Mort, and you know it, but I don't like this
business, any way."

"What did you