"I don't believe your yarn, boy--they looked like very respectable gentlemen, both of them. You had better go about your business--after you have paid me for breaking down the door. You shan't ransack their property."

"If you stop us, I'll call in the police and have you arrested,"

came promptly from Tom.

This threat nearly took away Caleb Yates' breath. "Arrested!" he gasped.

"Yes, arrested. My brother came in here, and is missing. Those two men are our enemies. If you want to keep out of trouble you will help us to hunt up my brother."

"That is just what you had better do, sir," added Frank.

"And who are you?" demanded the irate landlord.

"I am Frank Harrington, son of Senator Harrington."

At this unexpected announcement the jaw of the landlord dropped perceptibly. "Why--er--I didn't know you were Senator Harrington's son," he stammered.

"I think if you wish to keep out of trouble you had best aid us all you can. The young man we are after came in here a short while ago and has utterly disappeared. I am afraid he has met with foul play."

"But Mr. Arson and Mr. n.o.ble are gone."

"Is that the names they were known under?"

"Yes."

"Their right names are Girk and Baxter. They left the building just before we came up."

"What was your brother doing here?" asked Caleb Yates in a calmer tone.

"He was not my brother, but my warmest friend. He was tracking the short man, the fellow whose name is Girk. Girk once robbed him of his watch."

"I see. And you are sure of your men? If you are, search away, for I want no shady characters in these houses."

The search began immediately, several of the inmates of the tenements taking part. Everything in the room Girk and Baxter had occupied was turned topsy-turvy, but no trace of d.i.c.k was brought to light until Tom looked under the table.

"Here's his pocket-knife!" he cried, and held the article up.

"This proves that he came in here beyond a doubt."

"Yes; but where is he now?" put in Sam.

"They couldn't have spirited him away."

"He can't be far off," said Frank.

Again was the search renewed. The men had had one large room and one small apartment, where were located a dilapidated bed and a small writing table. On the table lay some writing material and several sc.r.a.ps of paper, but they were of no value.

The search through the rooms and hallways of the tenement lasted fully an hour. By this time the tenants who had gathered began to grow sleepy again, and one after another went back to their apartments.

"I don't think you are going to find anything," remarked Caleb Yates. "To my way of thinking, that boy must have followed the two men when they left."

"He couldn't do that without our seeing him," said Sam.

"And why not? Here's a back door, remember, and it's pretty dark outside."

"That may be so," returned Tom, shaking his curly head in perplexity.

"It's too bad we didn't follow Girk and Baxter up--at least as far as the street."

"Perhaps d.i.c.k is at our house waiting for us to come back," put in Frank. "Let us go home and see. We can come back early in the morning." He looked at his watch. "Do you know that it is after two o'clock? I'm afraid my father will worry about me."

They talked the matter over and decided to return to Frank's home without further delay.

It was a silent trio that walked the streets, which were now practically deserted. Tom and Sam were much worried and Frank hardly less so, for the senator's son and d.i.c.k had been warm friends for years.

When they reached the mansion they found Senator Harrington pacing the library nervously.

"Well, here you are at last!" he cried. "I was wondering what had become of you."

He listened to their tale with close attention.

"No, d.i.c.k has not come in," he said, "at least, I think not.

Run up to the bedrooms, Frank, and see."

Frank did as requested, and soon returned.

"No, he isn't about," he said disappointedly,

"It's mighty queer what became of him."

CHAPTER IX

A LOSS OF IMPORTANCE

Half stunned d.i.c.k lay for a long time on the newspapers and musty straw in the disused coal bin of the tenement cellar.

"This is what I call tough luck," he muttered to himself, and tried to force the somewhat loose gag from his mouth. But it would not come.

As soon as he felt strong enough he began to work on the rope which bound his hands together. But the rascals who had placed him in the cellar had done their work well, and the cord refused to budge.

With difficulty he managed to stand erect. The bin was not only pitch-dark, but full of cobwebs and the latter brushed over his face whenever he moved. Then a spider crawled on his neck, greatly adding to his discomfort.

Hour after hour went by, and poor d.i.c.k was wondering what the end of the adventure would be when he heard a footstep overhead and then came the indistinct murmur of voice.

"Somebody is in the room overhead," he thought, and tried to make himself heard. But before he could do this the footsteps moved off and he heard the slamming of a door. Then all became as quiet as before.

An hour more went by, and the youth began to grow desperate. He was thirsty and his mouth and nose were filled with dust and dirt, rendering him far from comfortable.