CHAPTER XXIV

BOB STICKS UP FOR A FRIEND

Bob jumped up, and watched the profile eagerly.

Then he saw it disappear, as the light was moved to one side.

“That was Casco, sure,” he said to himself. “And, hello! there’s somebody else. I wonder who it is?”

Bob saw that the window of the room was directly over the one story addition in the rear. He wondered if he could not get up to it and find out what was going on within.

Looking around, he espied a short ladder resting against an apple tree. Catching up the ladder, he placed it against the addition, and found it just reached the roof above.

Making sure that he was not being observed, Bob mounted the ladder silently, and then made his way over the roof to where the window was located.

As it was a warm night in the summer, both the upper and the lower sashes were placed to admit the air, and, by putting his ear close to the lower opening, Bob was able to make out all that was being said within the room.

“You are certain the boy didn’t follow you?” he heard, in a rough voice.

“No, I’m not sure, Raymond,” came the reply, in the tones of Casco. “But though I looked back I didn’t see him.”

“Humph! He might even this minute be somewhere about this place. Maybe it would be better to take a look around.”

“I took a good look before I came in. He has either gone on to Kentown or farther, I’m satisfied.”

“Well, it’s your fry, not mine,” laughed Raymond. “You must have had a hard time with him.”

“I did. That boy is a wizard for being able to slip away when you least expect it.”

“Do you suppose the others will follow you here?”

“I yelled at them to do so, when I sprang on the freight train. They will, if they heard me.”

“It’s about time that deal went through.”

“I agree with you, Raymond; but the trouble has been that we could not strike the right man to help us.”

“Won’t Watson do?”

“No. I sounded him, but he is too honest, even for big money.”

At that moment the wind flapped the curtain, and Bob could not hear the immediate conversation which followed.

“What!” he heard Casco exclaim a minute later. “You are sure it is he?”

“Certainly. He signed the register.”

“And he is in the house now?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to get square with him!” muttered the scar-faced man, savagely. “He is the chief cause of all my troubles.”

“We don’t want any trouble here,” replied Raymond. “Unless----”

“Unless what, Raymond?”

“Unless there is money in it.”

“He must have some money.”

“He said he had been on a collecting tour.”

“Then you may depend on it he has boodle. This district used to pan out several thousands of dollars.”

“But how will you do the job?”

“You have a key to his room, I suppose?”

“Of course. It is No. 12.”

“I have here a bottle of chloroform. I will put some on a handkerchief, and steal in and chloroform him. Then we can make up our minds what to do next.”

The two men left the room, closing the door after them.

Bob drew a long breath. He had actually overheard a plot against one of the guests of the hotel, and the young photographer was compelled to shiver at the thought.

His duty was plain. No matter what the risk, he must warn the intended victim of the plot against him.

Bob wondered who the person could be. Evidently it was somebody with whom Casco was well acquainted.

Without hesitation Bob pushed aside the curtain and sprang through the window.

The light was still burning, and at a glance the young photographer saw the apartment was an unoccupied bedroom.

Listening at the door to make sure that the two had really gone below, Bob, a second later, glided into the semi-dark hall-way.

The room in which the conversation had been held was numbered 47. Following this came No. 45, and the youth had no trouble in tracing the numbers until he came to No. 13, opposite to which was No. 12.

Bob listened at the door, and fancied he heard the breathing of a sleeper within.

He tapped lightly, and then a little harder.

“Who’s there?” came in a hurried voice, accompanied by the creaking of a bed.

“Open the door, quick!” cried Bob, through the key-hole.

“What’s the matter--house afire?” exclaimed the occupant of the room, as he bounced up and unlocked the door.

“No, but I--Frank Landes!”

“What, Bob! is that really you?”

And the young man held out his hand.

“My, but ain’t I glad I overheard that talk!” burst out Bob, fervidly.

“What talk?”

“Lock the door, and I’ll tell you. But you must speak in a whisper.”

Frank locked the door and also bolted it.

“Now, in the first place,” began Bob, “have you a pistol?”

“I have; but what under the canopy does it all mean?”

“Casco is in this house.”

“By Jove! is that true?”

“And he and Raymond, the proprietor, have just hatched out a plot to chloroform and rob you.”

“You are joking!”

“No, it’s the truth. Raymond thinks you have money with you.”

“So I have. I’ve been collecting for the firm, and that roll under my pillow has eighteen hundred dollars in it.”

“They would do a good deal for it. You had better--hist--here they come now.”

Bob caught Frank by the arm, and both grew silent.

Soft footsteps came up to the door, and then something scraped in the lock.

“I can’t open it,” came at length, in the voice of Raymond. “I know a better way.”

“What is it?”

“We can jump out on the roof of the extension and crawl through the window. Come on.”

The footsteps moved away. Frank walked to the bed and brought forth his pistol which was lying beside the roll of money.

“If they come in here, I’ll give them a warm reception,” he said, significantly.