Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 38
"I hope nothing has happened to the boy," he said to himself, uneasily,
as he drew out his watch. "It is time he was here. Have I done rightly
in leaving him in the clutches of a company of unprincipled men? Yet I
don't know what else I could do. If I had accompanied him to the door,
my appearance would have awakened suspicion. If through his means I can
get authentic information as to the interior of this house, which I
strongly suspect to be the headquarters of the gang, I shall have done a
good thing. Yet perhaps I did wrong in not giving the boy a word of
warning."
Mr. Baker took the cigar from his mouth and strolled into the opposite
room, where several of the hotel guests were either reading the morning
papers or writing letters. He glanced quickly about him, but saw no one
that resembled Grit.
"Not here yet?" he said to himself, "perhaps he can't find the hotel.
But he looks too smart to have any difficulty about that. Ha! whom have
we here?"
This question was elicited by a singular figure upon the sidewalk. It
was a tall, overgrown boy, whose well-worn suit appeared to have been
first put on when he was several years younger, and several inches
shorter. The boy was standing still, with mouth and eyes wide open,
staring in a bewildered way at the entrance of the hotel, as if he had
some business therein, but did not know how to go about it.
"That's an odd-looking boy," he thought. "Looks like one of Dickens'
characters."
Finally the boy, in an uncertain, puzzled way, ascended the steps into
the main vestibule, and again began to stare helplessly in different
directions.
One of the employees of the hotel went up to him.
"What do you want?" he demanded, rather roughly.
"Be you Mr. Baker?" asked the boy.
"No; I am not Mr. Baker."
"Where is Mr. Baker?"
"I don't know anything about Mr. Baker," answered the attendant
impatiently.
"The boy told me I would find him here," said Daniel, for of course my
reader recognizes him.
"Then the boy was playing a trick on you, most likely."
By this time Mr. Baker thought it advisable to make himself known.
"I am Mr. Benjamin Baker," he said, advancing. "Do you want to see me?"
Daniel looked very much relieved.
"I've got a note for you," he said.
"Give it to me."
Daniel did so, and was about to go out.
"Wait a minute, my young friend, there may be an answer," said the
detective.
Mr. Baker read rapidly the following note:
"I am in trouble. I think the letter I received was only meant to
entrap me. I have not seen Mr. Weaver, but I have had an interview
with Colonel Johnson, who planned the robbery of the bank at
Chester. He seems to know that I had something to do with defeating
his plans, and has sounded me as to whether I will help him in case
I act again as bank messenger. On my refusing, he touched a spring,
and let me down through a trap-door in the floor of the rear room
to a cellar beneath, where I am kept in darkness. The boy who gives
you this brings me my meals. He doesn't seem very bright, but I
have agreed to pay him well if he will hand you this, and I hope he
will succeed. I don't know what Colonel Johnson proposes to do with
me, but I hope you will be able to help me.
GRIT."
Benjamin Baker nodded to himself while he was reading this note.
"This confirms my suspicions," he said to himself. "If I am lucky I
shall succeed in trapping the trappers. Hark you, my boy, when are you
going back?"
"As soon as I have been to the market."
"Very well; what did the boy agree to give you for bringing this note?"
"Five dollars," answered Daniel, his dull face lighting up, for he knew
the power of money.
"Would you like five dollars more?"
"Wouldn't I?" was the eager response.
"Then don't say a word to anybody about bringing this note."
"No, I won't. He'd strap me if I did."
"Shall you see the boy?"
"Yes, at twelve o'clock, when I carry his dinner."
"When you see him, tell him you've seen me, and it's all right. Do you
understand?"
Daniel nodded.
"I may call up there some time this morning. If I do I want you to open
the door and let me in."
Daniel nodded again.
"That will do. You can go."
Mr. Baker left the hotel with a preoccupied air.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
GRIT MAKES A DISCOVERY.
Grit, left to himself, was subjected to the hardest trial, that of
waiting for deliverance, and not knowing whether the expected help would
come.
"At any rate I have done the best I could," he said to himself. "Daniel
is the best messenger I could obtain. He doesn't seem to be more than
half-witted, but he ought to be intelligent enough to find Mr. Baker and
deliver my note."
The subterranean apartment, with its utter destitution of furniture,
furnished absolutely no resources against ennui. Grit was fond of
reading, and in spite of his anxiety might in an interesting paper or
book have forgotten his captivity, but there was nothing to read, and
even if there had been, it was too dark to avail himself of it.
"I suppose I sha'n't see Daniel till noon," he reflected. "Till then I
am left in suspense."
He sat down in a corner and began to think over his position and future
prospects. He was not wholly cast down, for he refused to believe that
he was in any real peril. In fact, though a captive, he had never felt
more hopeful, or more self-reliant than now. But he was an active boy,
and accustomed to exercise, and he grew tired of sitting down.
"I will walk a little," he decided, and proceeded to pace up and down
his limited apartment.
Then it occurred to him to ascertain the dimensions of the room, by
pacing.
As he did so, he ran his hand along the side wall. A most remarkable
thing occurred. A door flew open, which had appeared like the rest of
the wall, and a narrow passageway was revealed, leading Grit could not
tell where.
"I must have touched some spring," he thought. "This house is a regular
trap. I wonder where this passageway leads?"
Grit stooped down, for the passage was but about four feet in height,
and tried to peer through the darkness. But he could see nothing.
"Shall I explore it?" he thought.
He hesitated a moment, not knowing whether it would be prudent, but
finally curiosity overruled prudence, and he decided to do so.
Stooping over, he felt his way for possibly fifty feet, when he came to
a solid wall. Here seemed to be the end of the passage.
He began to feel slowly with his hand, when another small door, only
about twelve inches square, flew open, and he looked through it into
another subterranean apartment. It did not appear to be occupied, but on
a small wooden table was a candle, and by the light of the candle Grit
could see a variety of articles, including several trunks, one open,
revealing its contents to be plate.
"What does it mean?" thought Grit.
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