it was certainly a matter of surprise that a man like standish should put up at a high-priced and fashionable hotel like the lindell. moreover gerald soon learned that he had a room very near them. there was but one between. one thing more that looked suspicious was that standish, though he frequently passed gerald and his companion, appeared to take very little notice of them.

“i am afraid mr. standish is cutting us, mr. brooke,” said gerald laughing.

“perhaps we are not up to his standard,” returned brooke. “i suppose there is no help for it. if you think a little social attention would conciliate him——”

“such as lending him a five-dollar bill,” suggested gerald.

“i see you have some knowledge of human nature, gerald. i confess i should like to find out the man’s object in following us, for it is[200] evident that our being at this hotel is the attraction for him.”

“i will engage him in conversation,” said gerald, “on the first opportunity.”

“do so.”

that evening gerald met mr. standish in the lobby of the hotel.

“i believe we met on the steamer coming down the river,” began gerald politely.

“yes,” answered standish promptly. “you are with an englishman.”

“yes.”

“i recognized you both, but i did not wish to intrude. do you remain long in this city?”

“i don’t know. mr. brooke is making a leisurely tour of the states, and it depends upon him.”

“if you are not expected to spend all your time with him, i should like to go about a little with you.”

“then you are going to spend some time in st. louis?” gerald ventured to inquire.

“that depends on circumstances. i am here on a little matter of business. i am a traveling salesman.”

“indeed! in what line?”

“i travel for a house in chicago,” said mr.[201] standish vaguely. “i would answer your questions, but our house is peculiar, and requires its agents to be very close-mouthed.”

“oh, that’s all right. i didn’t wish to be inquisitive.”

“you can imagine how absurd it was for a man of my standing to be accused of raising the alarm of fire on the boat.”

“yes,” answered gerald non-commitally.

in his own mind he was convinced that standish did raise the alarm, but did not consider it necessary to say so.

“you are much indebted to the gentleman who came to your assistance,” he said instead.

“yes, he is a gentleman! i believe you know him?”

“yes. is he staying in st. louis?”

“i think he went on to new orleans.”

“but he left the boat.”

“yes, for a day or two. i have not seen him since.”

“your room is near ours.”

“is it? i hadn’t noticed.”

gerald knew better than this, for he had seen standish standing in front of their door and scrutinizing it curiously.

the next morning he noticed something else.[202] in the vicinity of the southern hotel he saw samuel standish and bradley wentworth walking together in close conference. it might have been their first meeting, so he found an opportunity some hours later of saying to standish: “i thought i saw mr. wentworth in the street to-day.”

“indeed! where?”

gerald returned an evasive answer.

“you may be right,” said standish. “if he is here i shall be glad to meet him and thank him once more for the service he did me.”

“it is clear there is something between them,” decided gerald, “and that something must relate to me and the papers mr. wentworth is so anxious to secure.”

but in that event it puzzled gerald that mr. standish seemed to take no special pains to cultivate their acquaintance—as he might naturally have been expected to do. he was destined to find out that standish was not idle.

one day—the fifth of his stay in st. louis—gerald was walking in one of the poorer districts of the city, when a boy of ten, with a thin, pallid face and shabby clothes, sidled up to him.

“oh, mister,” he said, whimpering, “won’t[203] you come wid me? i’m afraid my mudder will beat me if i go home alone.”

“what makes you think your mother will beat you?”

“coz she sent me out for a bottle of whisky this mornin’ and i broke it.”

“does your mother drink whisky?” asked gerald compassionately.

“yes, mister, she’s a reg’lar tank, she is.”

“have you any brothers or sisters?”

“i have a little brudder. she licks him awful.”

“have you no father?”

“no; he got killed on the railroad two years ago.”

“i am sorry for you,” said gerald, in a tone of sympathy. “here is a quarter.”

“thank you, mister.”

“perhaps that will prevent your mother from beating you.”

“i don’t know,” said the boy doubtfully. “mudder’s a hard case. she’s awful strong. won’t you go home with me?”

“i am afraid i can’t say anything that will make any impression on your mother. where do you live?”

the boy pointed to a shabby house of three stories, situated not far away.

[204]

“it’s only a few steps, mister.”

“perhaps i may be able to do the little fellow some good,” thought gerald. “at any rate, as the house is so near, i may as well go in.”

“very well,” he said aloud. “i’ll go in and see your mother. do you think that she has been drinking lately?”

“no; i spilt the whisky. that’s why she’s mad.”

gerald followed the boy to the house. his companion opened the outer door, and revealed a steep staircase covered with a very ragged oil-cloth, and led the way up.

“come along!” he said.

when he reached the head of the first flight he kept on.

“is it any higher up?”

“yes, one story furder.”

gerald followed the boy, inhaling, as he went up, musty and disagreeable odors, and felt that if it had not been on an errand of mercy he would have been inclined to retreat and make his way back to the street.

the boy pushed on to the rear room on the third floor, and opened the door a little way.

“come in!” he said.

gerald followed him in, and began to look[205] around for the mother whom he had come to see. but the room appeared to be empty.

a sound startled him. it was the sound of a key in the lock. he turned quickly and found that his boy guide had mysteriously disappeared and left him alone.

he tried the door, only to confirm his suspicion that he had been locked in.

“what does it all mean?” he asked himself in genuine bewilderment.

he knocked loudly at the door, and called out, “boy, open the door.”

the only answer was a discordant laugh, and he heard the steps of the boy as he hurried downstairs.

gerald was completely bewildered. had the boy been a man he would have been on his guard, but who could be suspicious of a street urchin, whose story seemed natural enough. what evil design could he have, or what could he do now that his victim was trapped?

“i wish he would come back, so that i might question him,” thought gerald.

with the hope of bringing this about gerald began to pound on the door.

“come back here, boy!” he called out in a loud tone. “come back, and let me out!”

[206]

but no one answered. in fact the boy who had proved so unworthy of his compassion was by this time in the street, laughing aloud at his successful maneuver.

“dat’s a good one!” he said gleefully. “i got de bloke in good. uncle sam offered me half a dollar if i’d do it. i’ll strike him for a dollar if i can.”

after waiting five minutes gerald tried a second fusillade on the door. this brought a response, not from his young jailer, but from a choleric german who lived opposite.

“i say, you stop dat or i’ll come in and break your kopf!” he said.

“come in!” cried gerald eagerly. “i have been locked in.”

“if i come in i mash you!”

“come in, and i’ll take the risk.”

“how i come in widout de key?”

“i don’t know unless you break open the door.”

“and pay damages to de landlord? not much, nein, i guess not,” and the stout german walked away.

“i suppose i shall have to wait till some one else comes,” said gerald to himself, and he sat down on a wooden chair without a back.