"He"s a queer customer!" thought Dodger. "However, it"s all one to me, as long as he pays me well for the job."
They got out at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, and struck down toward the river, Dodger carrying the valise.
"I wonder where we"re going?" he asked himself.
At length they reached a wooden house of three stories, standing by itself, and here the stranger stopped.
He rang the bell, and the door was opened by a hump-backed negro, who looked curiously at Dodger.
"Is the room ready, Julius?" asked the old man.
"Yes, sir."
"Boy, take the valise upstairs, and I will follow you."
Up two flights of stairs walked Dodger, followed by the old man and the negro.
The latter opened the door of a back room, and Dodger, obedient to directions, took the valise inside and deposited it on a chair.
He had hardly done so when the door closed behind him, and he heard the slipping of a bolt.
"What does all this mean?" Dodger asked himself in amazement.
Chapter XVIII.
In A Trap.
"Hold on there! Open that door!" he exclaimed, aloud.
There was no answer.
"I say, let me out!" continued our hero, beginning to kick at the panels.
This time there was an answer.
"Stop that kicking, boy! I will come back in fifteen minutes and explain all."
"Well," thought Dodger, "this is about the strangest thing that ever happened to me. However, I can wait fifteen minutes."
He sat down on a cane chair--there were two in the room--and looked about him.
He was in an ordinary bedroom, furnished in the usual manner. There was nothing at all singular in its appearance.
On a book shelf were a few books, and some old numbers of magazines.
There was one window looking into a back yard, but as the room was small it was sufficient to light the apartment.
Dodger looked about in a cursory manner, not feeling any particular interest in his surroundings, for he had but fifteen minutes to wait, but he thought it rather queer that it should be thought necessary to lock him in.
He waited impatiently for the time to pa.s.s.
Seventeen minutes had pa.s.sed when he heard the bolt drawn. Fixing his eyes eagerly on the door he saw it open, and two persons entered.
One was the hump-backed negro, carrying on a waiter a plate of b.u.t.tered bread, and a cup of tea; the other person was--not the old man, but, to Dodger"s great amazement, a person well-remembered, though he had only seen him once--Curtis Waring.
"Set down the waiter on the table, Julius," said Waring.
Dodger looked on in stupefaction. He was getting more and more bewildered.
"Now, you can go!" said Curtis, in a tone of authority.
The negro bowed, and after he had disposed of the waiter, withdrew.
"Do you know me, boy?" asked Curtis, turning now and addressing Dodger.
"Yes; you are Mr. Waring."
"You remember where you last saw me?"
"Yes, sir. At your uncle"s house on Madison Avenue."
"Quite right."
"How did you come here? Where is the old man whose valise I brought from the Albany boat?"
Curtis smiled, and drew from his pocket a gray wig and whiskers.
"You understand now, don"t you?"
"Yes, sir; I understand that I have been got here by a trick."
"Yes," answered Curtis, coolly. "I have deemed it wise to use a little stratagem. But you must be hungry. Sit down and eat your supper while I am talking to you."
Dodger was hungry, for it was past his usual supper time, and he saw no reason why he should not accept the invitation.
Accordingly, he drew his chair up to the table and began to eat.
Curtis seated himself on the other chair.
"I have a few questions to ask you, and that is why I arranged this interview. We are quite by ourselves," he added, significantly.
"Very well, sir; go ahead."
"Where is my Cousin Florence? I am right, I take it, in a.s.suming that you know where she is."
"Yes, sir; I know," answered Dodger, slowly.