"He's the man, or boy, for us!" cried Tiffles. "Is in the bill-posting business, and knows the town better than I do, if anything. A shrewd fellow, judging from his looks; and, if he's in love with Miss Minford, then he's sure never to tire of hunting her up. He must disguise himself, and find young Van Quintem, and follow him day and night, till he brings up at Miss Minford. That's the shortest road. When Miss Minford has been found, then we will consider what is to be done next."

Mrs. Crull and Overtop at once approved of this plan, and no time was lost in putting it into execution.

CHAPTER V.

BOG'S OPEN SESAME.

Bog was easily found, and gladly consented to do the work allotted to him. It was agreed that he should conduct the search alone, and in his own way; but that, after he had succeeded in tracing Miss Minford to her place of concealment, he should send word, without delay, to Mrs. Crull, and also to old Van Quintem, whose advice upon the subject had been obtained. It was thought that the reasoning and entreaties of the two together would win back the poor girl from the path of danger which she was unconsciously treading.

Bog disguised himself by putting on his old, discarded working clothes; and, as he looked at his reflection in the gla.s.s, thought how much truth there was in the maxim, that "fine feathers make fine birds."

"Go, my good boy," old Van Quintem had said to him, in faltering accents; "go among the gambling houses, and other dens of infamy, and you will surely hear of my son."

Acting on this advice--which confirmed his own opinion--Bog proceeded to visit the gambling houses on Broadway. Child of the city as he was, he knew the locations of them all. His constant travels about town, day and night, had made him a master of all this knowledge, and much more of the sort, which is only useful when, as in the case of this poor orphan boy, it serves to show where evil must be avoided, not sought. Thus the pilot, taking his vessel through h.e.l.lgate, profits by his knowledge of the rocks and the shallows, to steer clear of all dangers, and come safely into port.

Bog, before leaving his shop, had been provided with this decoy note, written by the ingenious Wesley Tiffles in cunning imitation of Miss Minford's handwriting. The long, elegant curves, and all the delicate peculiarities of her chirography, taught by Miss Pillbody, had been copied from the sample furnished by her note to Mrs. Crull. It ran as follows:

MR. VAN QUINTEM:

DEAR SIR: Come to me at once, for I am in trouble.

PET.

The plan (Bog's contrivance all this) was to inquire at the gambling houses where Mr. Van Quintem, jr., was most likely to be, and, when he was found, to send this note in to him by a servant. Bog, having delivered the note, was to withdraw to the sidewalk, lie in ambush, till young Van Quintem came out, and then follow him to Miss Minford's retreat. There he was to wait, and send a swift messenger to Mrs. Crull and old Van Quintem. It was not known that young Van Quintem had ever seen Miss Minford's handwriting; but, to make the game sure, the note had been written with a skill worthy of a counterfeiter, or that most dexterous of penmen, young Van Quintem himself.

Bog commenced operations about three o'clock in the afternoon--the hour when the gambler and debauchee, who have been up all the previous night, are ready to begin their feverish life again.

He first visited a snug establishment near the lower end of Broadway. It was situated in the second story, over a nominal exchange office, and was the favorite resort of down-town brokers, who, having gambled on Wall street till the close of business hours, dropped in to flirt with Fortune an hour or two before going home to dinner. Sometimes their hour or two was protracted to six o'clock next morning, when they staggered home to breakfast and a curtain lecture together. This Temple of Faro was never impertinently molested by the police; and it was a subject of remark, among people who thought they had been robbed there, that there was never a policeman within sight of the door.

In the hallway of the second story occupied by this gambling saloon, were a number of doors, which the experienced eye of the boy at once decided to be blinds, or, in other words, no doors at all, but only imitations. The appearance of the second story was that of a suite of unoccupied offices. Whoever rapped at these blind doors, could obtain no admission.

At the end of the hallway, Bog came upon a long window, which was painted white on the inside. He saw, by a glance at the grooves of the lower sash, that it was often raised. There was a boot-worn hollow on the floor beneath the window. The unusual length of the lower sash, and the nearness of the sill to the floor, would permit persons to step into the room easily when the window was raised.

Bog rapped thrice at this window. He had a vague idea--derived from reading, perhaps--that three raps were an open sesame to mysterious rooms the world over. The last rap had not ceased to vibrate on the pane of gla.s.s, when the window was suddenly shoved up, as if by somebody waiting on the other side.

A negro of intense blackness stood revealed. He took a hasty inventory of Bog's old clothes, and then said, "Clare out, now!" He commenced to close the window.

"I was told to give you a half dollar," said Bog, bethinking himself of a powerful expedient, "if you would find out whether Mr. Van Quintem was here, and hand him a letter."

The negro's eyes dilated, and his thick lips wreathed into a grin.

"Mr. Fan Squintem--a little feller with a big black mustache? I knows him. Dunno wether he's in, 'L see fur ye." The negro paused. The interrogatory, "Where's your half dollar?" could be plainly seen in his great eyes.

"Here it is," said Bog.

The negro grinned his satisfaction, pocketed the coin, disappeared through another door from which there exhaled an odor of cigars and mint juleps, and returned, in a minute, with the intelligence, "He a'n't in, Mister. P'a'ps you want to leave some word for him?"

Bog had no time to lose. He said, "Nothing partickler," and hurried off, leaving the negro to puzzle over his half dollar.

At the next gambling saloon, near the junction of Broadway and Park Row, Bog simplified his method of operations. Before making any inquiry of the servant who answered his triple rap, he thrust a half dollar at him, and then put his question. This plan saved surly looks and explanations.

Mr. Van Quintem was a well-known patron of the establishment, but had not been there for a week: which was rather strange, the man politely added.

Bog continued his search, walking as fast as he could. In second stories, in third stories, in fourth stories, in the rear of ground floors, in one or two bas.e.m.e.nts, among all the more fashionable gambling dens, which, at that period, lay between Fulton and Tenth streets, he picked his way. His new system had drawn heavily upon his stock of loose silver, and he had but two half dollars left. The question now was, how to spend them?--for Bog knew of no more resorts of gamblers on Broadway; and there were none on any of the side streets which a man of young Van Quintem's style would be likely to frequent. It was the edge of evening.

The boy walked up and down between Tenth and Fourteenth streets, thinking what it would be best to do next. He kept a sharp lookout at the pa.s.sers by, hoping to see the object of his search. He paused to rest himself a few minutes in the doorway of a photographic gallery; and, while there, observed two young men, with sickly complexions and bloodshot eyes, coming up the street. He recognized them as young men whom he had often seen issuing from gambling places in the small hours of the morning. They were talking briskly, and Bog p.r.i.c.ked up his ears.

"The very d----l's in the cards lately," said the whitest-faced of the two.

"Luck must have a turn," said the other. "By ----" (with a horrid oath), "suppose we try Van's?"

"Van's? Where's that?"

"Why, the concern just opened on the corner above. The biggest kind of suppers there, they say."

"All right," said the other, wearily. "We'll try Van's."

Van is a common prefix of names in New York; but Bog needed no further a.s.surance that this Van belonged to Quintem. The opening of a new gambling saloon under his name (with some wealthy backer furnishing the capital, as is usually the case) would explain why young Van Quintem had not been seen at any of his old haunts on Broadway for a fortnight past.

Bog followed his guides at a short distance. After proceeding two squares, they stopped in front of a stylish old mansion, and, after a furtive look up and down and across the street, ascended the steps, and opened the door. As they did so, Bog swiftly pa.s.sed the house, and saw that a muscular servant stood within the entry, for the obvious purpose of preventing the intrusion of persons not wanted there. The large diamond breastpins and depraved faces of the two young men were their pa.s.sports, and were _vised_ without hesitation by the diplomatic attendant.

Bog took a half dollar in his hand, advanced to the door, which was now closed, and boldly opened it.

The athletic guardian of the place, being confronted with this audacious youth in old clothes, put on a commanding look, and said:

"Well, sir, and what the d----l do you want here?"

"Only to give you half a dollar, as I was told to," said Bog, "and to ask if Mr. Van Quintem was in. Note from a lady, sir; that's all."

Bog winked.

The servant smiled, and took the coin.

"He's in," was the reply.

"Then please hand this to him, and say as how it's 'mportant. No arnser wanted."

The servant received the note, and sententiously remarked, "Consider it done;" whereon the boy Bog hurriedly retreated, and hid himself in a doorway nearly opposite. He had hardly done this, before the door of the house opened again, and disclosed the man whom he longed to see. The letter was crumpled in his hand, and his pale face betrayed agitation.

He cast wary looks in all directions, and then descended to the sidewalk, and walked fast down Broadway. Bog emerged from his seclusion, and followed him at a distance, always keeping somebody between him and the object of his pursuit.

At the corner of Astor Place, young Van Quintem stopped; and Bog came to a halt also, half a block behind.

The next minute, the Eighth-street stage, going up, approached the corner at a rapid rate, as if the driver were hurrying home to his supper. There were but few persons in the stage.

Young Van Quintem hailed the conveyance, jumped in before it could stop, and the driver whipped up his horses to an increased speed. Bog was tired, and he knew not how far he might have to follow the stage at a full trot. He resolved upon his course instantly. Turning the corner of Clinton Place, he ran up that side of the triangular block, and met the stage. He pulled his old cap farther over his eyes, to prevent the possibility of recognition by young Van Quintem, and, gliding swiftly behind the stage, when he was sure that the driver was not looking, hooked on to the step behind, just as he had done a thousand times when he was a smaller boy.

CHAPTER VI.