"what does this mean, mr. brand?" demanded gerald, with quick suspicion.

brand sat down on the bed, and answered, with a smile:

"it means that i want your money, young man."

"how do you know that i have any?"

"i was in the park national bank when you drew money this morning. i want it."

"so you are a thief?" returned gerald, hotly, "you would rob a boy?"

"i would rob any one that had money. the fact is, i am hard up and must get money somewhere."

"and this was your object in making my acquaintance and taking me about the city."

"yes; you have guessed it."

"the money that i have does not belong to me. if i had any money of my own i would give it to you."

"i don't care whether the money is yours or the mayor's. a dollar is a dollar, no matter to whom it belongs. so fork over, young man, and don't keep me waiting."

"is it possible such crimes are committed in a great city with hundreds near at hand?"

"that's a conundrum. however, i can answer in the affirmative. now, how much money have you got?"

the money gerald had drawn from the bank he had put in his inside vest-pocket. that amounted, as the reader is aware, to one hundred and fifty dollars. the money he had brought from portville he had in his wallet, and this amounted to only fifty. the loss of this would not inconvenience him. he decided to give this up if necessary. the question in gerald's mind was whether brand had seen him put away the park bank money.

"i have fifty dollars," he answered. "i will give you ten dollars if you will let me go."

"ten dollars!" repeated brand, scornfully. "you must think me an idiot."

"but i can't get along without money."

"what does this mean?"

"neither can i. so hand over your money." it looked as if brand were deceived, and that gerald might save the more considerable sum in his vest-pocket. but to part with it too easily might excite suspicion.

"mr. brand," said gerald, "i appeal to you once more. let me go free; or, at any rate, don't take all my money."

"all your money is very little. i thought you had more. fifty dollars will hardly pay me for the trouble i have taken."

"i didn't ask you to take any trouble. you would have done better to select some other victim."

"i thought you would be the easiest to deal with," returned brand, coolly. "but we are wasting time. produce your money."

gerald drew out his wallet. fortunately for him the contents were in bills of small denominations, so that, though only representing a small sum, they made quite a goodly show.

"ah!" said brand, in a tone of satisfaction, as he held out his hand, "that is something like. it is like the sight of water to a thirsty traveler."

as he spoke he deliberately put the wallet in his pocket.

"but," said gerald, in apparent alarm, "if you take all my money how am i to get home?"

brand shrugged his shoulders.

"you are young and strong; it won't hurt you to walk," he replied.

"then i shall have to stay in the city."

"it will be safer for me to get him out of the city," thought brand.

"how much will it cost you to get home?" he asked.

"a dollar."

brand drew a dollar bill from the wallet and threw it out on the bed.

"there," he said, "you can't say i have treated you meanly. have you any change?"

"no."

"here is half a dollar besides. it was all the money i had before i struck luck in meeting you."

"it is not very good luck for me," said gerald, with a long face.

"oh, you'll get over it. and now, mr. lane, i will bid you a good morning."

he rose to his feet, and walking to the door, unlocked it. gerald followed him.

brand waved him back.

"you are not going out," he said. "you will have to wait here a little longer."

"why won't you release me, mr. brand? you have got my money; what more do you want?"

"because, my young friend, we might meet a policeman outside, and you might introduce me to him. do you see?"

"yes," answered gerald, smiling.

"i must therefore bid you good-by in haste. i suppose we are not likely to meet again?"

"i hope not."

"i quite agree with you."

he opened the door and went out into the entry. gerald heard the key turned in the lock, and sat down to consider the situation. he had no idea how long he should be compelled to remain in the room, but as might be expected, he was impatient to have his captivity ended. reflecting over the events of the morning, he felt mortified to think that he had fallen such an easy victim to an unscrupulous adventurer.

the door was locked, but there was a window. could he escape that way? he walked to the window and looked out. there was a small yard below, but, as the room was on the third floor, the distance was too great for him to jump or let himself down. besides, should he do so, he might be taken for a burglar or unauthorized intruder, and stand in danger of being arrested.

possibly there might be some person in the adjoining room—some one whose attention he might attract. he judged that the partition was thin, and that any noise he made would be heard. he began to pound on the wall, gradually increasing the vigor of his efforts.

"if there is anybody there he can't help hearing," he reflected.

he was soon assured that he was right.

in a minute he heard a voice outside his door. it was the sharp, shrill voice of a woman.

"what are you doin' there, you spalpeen?" were the words he heard. "do you want to batter down the wall?"

"no," answered gerald, "i want to get out."

"why don't you get out, then? what's to hinder?"

"i am locked in!"

"shure, that's quare! who locked you in?"

"mr. brand."

"i don't know any such man."

it had not occurred to gerald that his acquaintance of the morning might have given him a false name.

"it's the man that lives here, then. he said his name was brand."

"mr. turner occupies the room."

"is he a tall, dark man?"

"yes."

"then he's the one that lured me here, robbed me of my money, and then left after locking me in."

"oh, my gracious! i didn't think he was such a man!"

"can you open the door? have you a key?"

"yes, but it is the key of my own room. i don't think it will fit."

"try it, won't you?" asked gerald, anxiously.

the key was thrust into the lock, but it would not open it.

"no, it won't fit," said the woman.

this was discouraging.

"won't you ask the landlady to open the door?" asked the young prisoner. "probably she has a key that will open it."

there was a step heard on the stairs.

"oh, mr. brown," said the woman, "will your key open the door of this room?"

"i will try it. what's up?" asked the new arrival, who seemed to be a young man.

gerald waited in anxious suspense while the key was thrust into the lock. it fitted, and the door was opened.

"how were you locked in?" asked the young man looking puzzled. "you don't lodge here, do you?"

"no; i was lured here by the man who occupies the room. he robbed me of my wallet, and then went away, locking me in."

"whew!" exclaimed the young man. "that will make an item for my paper."

"are you an editor?" asked gerald.

"i am a reporter on an evening paper," he replied. "miss sloan, this is mr. turner's room, isn't it?"

"yes, mr. brown. do you think he is a burglar? if so, i sha'n't dare to live in the house."

"he won't try to rob you, and i feel safe. editors and reporters are not attractive game for gentlemen of his profession." then turning to gerald, he asked: "did he relieve you of much money?"

"fifty dollars."

"oh, my gracious!" exclaimed miss sloan, throwing up her hands. "poor boy, did he take all you had?"

"no, ma'am, i have a little left. what ought i to do?"

"report the matter to the police. i'll go with you. the fellow ought to be arrested."