Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 960 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

€hrough him. He is using me, but he can’t use me any more in the same fashion, not if I know it. I am going it alone now, ~ and we'll see where I'll bring up. I am afraid he does suspect George, after all. If so, I must be flyer than ever to prevent any injury to him.” CHAPTER XI." WHERE TWO TRAILS CONVERGE. Needless to say, Fred had guessed the truth; the Broadway Sport had been mak- ing use of him, but not without owning to Fred his helpfulness. That the boy had been useful could not ‘pe denied, and it was that, perhaps, that 2h eco the Flyer more than anything else; ence his resolve to “‘go it alone,” However, Fred should have reasoned it out further, and seen that the request which the detective had made was right and proper. He could deal with the man Allen, while Fred, known to him, could have done nothing. Then it was not natu- ral for a detective to transfer his work to a boy. | however, saw it from his own standpoint only, and felt not a little cha- grined. “To think that I saved his life,” he said to himself, ‘‘and then for him to turn me off like this when he got out of me all 1 knew. But he won't do it again. I'll go straight and see George Stroughtenberg.”’. Having come to this decision, he laid his course for the Stroughtenberg residence, p Arriving there, he was admitted as be- ore. His inquiry for Mr. George Stroughten- berg, however, gave him the information that he was not at home. i‘ This contingency, nevertheless, Fred had thought of, and was prepared to say that he would wait until he arrived; but he. was not prepared for the information ven George was not expected back until night. “Why, where has he gone?” the boy asked “Do you want to see him for anything important?’ the butler demanded. “Tt is just so important that the sooner se, see him the better,’ was the Fly Fer- _Tet’s rejoinder. , “Tf that is the case, I suppose I had ‘better tell you, though you must not tell any one else, for Mr. Stroughtenberg does not want it known. RE rt * Pred felt a chill pass over him.. >. Why all this secrecy? ter all, was - | Geona Stroughtenberg in some measure Bes psible for his father’s dea ia Savainst that, however, the fa thful boy _ tertain the ignoble thought for a moment. He believed his dead master” $s son inno- i. cent; it was his business to’prove him so. “ ay) Sree _ the better, as I told you before.” TF T didn’t know you, boy, you would be ea have to give me better proof than your word, but as it is it is differ he En: is to ‘be trusted anywhere; have heard a¥} : a poor Mr. Stroughtenberg Siiy that more_ i oh Bs th in. once. Mr. ‘George has gone o Mount o Mount Vernon?” the ferret echoed. “Yes, why not?” ae e Fred had seen him certainly was ount Vernon! No reason why not, I suppose,’ 4 Fred | Be die 7 That is what sticks me.” F a! You, ent telegraph. A message setit to | rejoinder. “But 1 um not positive that | detective, saying he would remain out of (eye. the —— Hotel will reach him all right. | My guess is correct.’ sight at the station. _ ae: “aie Me a t was | "way he tol hie to reach ep They entered the car while speaking, KKempton gaye him a keen look, but had — i} | panes “pppsual in stern turned | and the detective, finding seats together, | no time then to argue the matter with him ly oes a pc d ed oto gif Ne sates isa had looked: around | forthe, ihe a had mas out of AO rh i) ag : ‘- fh J ¥, ; “f x at - ry uti any ; : ey RK) tae tS Oe me ee t # “Ky + ii \ a z ae eS A, hie ba’ ats ae Ih ae ey ier bt nik A, “i yr ae) yok Bi ult a, fe foe a4) : ee ot td bee ! wale i Se al) i 2 Seno Y Fah it MA xt ce Ay ip fh ay ‘nf Me! », yy. 7 vy ne pe Be ra in ah ih F iM PL eae) “ys Bb ; Kh i Wee ob, . + : <<: 4 A a) Fy ie et mie pF ity om jan ae ee * >) og es 1 “Tarts et sh OE - iS Ae, tes seh ow OP Daldt he rit re oS nef he rae ear ayy ‘ Os ui CE - grimly closed his mind. He would not en- | - “T won't tell, of course,’ Fred assured. in Baa all I want is to find him, and the sooner t. Fred Fly “but how am I going to reach \ The Broadway Sport. “Yes, but this story of mine is too long to. find Stroughtenbers, but tailed to dis+ for telegraph. I'll have to go there; don’t see any other way.” “ Have you ever been there?” “No; but that doesn’t make any dif- ference. If the place is there I can find it. If I should miss him, I will come here again, so you can tell him that.” “All right.” Fred took leave and made all haste to the Grand Central Station, where he dis- covered he had arrived just in time for a train. He bought a ticket, happening to have some money, and made haste out to the shed from which the trains take their de- parture, ‘and having discovered his train, hastened to get aboard. He had just put his foot on the step and taken hold of the rail, when a hand fell upon his shoulder. Fred looked around quickly, and found the Broadway Sport. “Where are you going, Fred?” the de- tective inquired, rather sharply. “How came you here?” “What difference can it make to you | where I am going?’ Fred demanded. “You told me to start on another trail, and maybe I am doing that; I won’t say. I might ask you what you are doing here.” ‘* And I will tell you if you will answer a few questions truthfully, my boy. “IT am not in the habit of aiaurania questions any other way, when I answer them at all,” was the rejoinder. ‘Well, what are you doing here, then?” “Taking a train.’ “Where are you going?” “That doesn’ t matter, does it?” ‘Where did you go after leaving me?’’ “IT guess that does not matter, either, does it?” “Fred, there is no use our working to eross purposes; tell me right out where you are going, and what you are going for.” “Can’t do it. You said a while ago that we had better part for the present, and we parted for good. If you want to know where I am going, you will have to come along and see.” i Suppose I take you ‘at your ‘word, what en? %9 ; “Then I'll stay at home.” “ Now, Fred, you are playing the mule just a little pit. Shall I tell you where you are going and what you are going for? You are a cute one, I have to admit, whether I would or not.” “Tell me if you can~ But here goes . the train. Tra-la!” ‘No, we won't part this time,” said the | sport, with a smile, swinging on board im- mediately behind Fred, *“ Then you mean to follow me?’ ‘No; we happen to be going to the same : But is it possible that I | F fim mistaken? You did not leave me when place, that is all. IT told you to, I take it, but followed Al- len, and so came here—that was it, eh?” Fred saw as quick as a wink just how: the situation stood. The detective did not know that eor ge Stroughtenberg had gone @, Mount Ver- a evidenily. | nd, quick-witted, he was quick enough to accept the situatiqn, and so conceal | What he knew about the matter. At the same time he was puzzled to know why both men were going there. However, he had not yet heard the detective say to. what place Allen was going, \ “How did you guess that 2” Fred in- ‘stantly demanded, pretending surprise. “It was easy enough to guess,” was the | | itg aes cover him, “Now, what place are you going to? the detective asked. ‘Same place you are going to,” was the prompt answer. ‘Mount Vernon?” “ Exactly.” “Well, answer me a question, will you? How did you know the man was going to Mount Vernon?’ “How did you know it yourself? If you are a detective, don’t imagine that nobody else can play at the same game, for they can? I played it good enough to save your life.” ‘Which I shall not forget, my boy, and if you will’be more agreeable we shall get along better.” ‘And let you use me to scare up game for you, eh?” “What more can you ask, as a boy? You are not big enough to take the birds after they are put up, are you? We must pull together, Fred, since you are determ- ined to stick to me—” “ But I ain’t stickin’ to ye—” “Ha! I thought my guess was a poor one. You are on another lay entirely, L see, It must be that a pal of Allen’s has. come this way, and you are after him. Fred, we must have an earnest talk about these matters.” CHAPTER XII. THE MYSTERY OF MOUNT Neigh Fred Fly felt chagrined. He found that he was not a seth for the trained detective. If he talked at all, he believed that the detective would soon have it all out of him in spite of himself. “Seems to me you don’t know how yow want to guess,” Fred responded, determ- ined to puzzle the sport if he could. ‘At any rate, you don’t stick to the guess you ~ first made.” “Because you have admitted that you are not sticking to me. — thought it funny that you could know Where the man was going, when you came out to the train ahead of him. You bought your ticket first, if you. have got one, and I suppose you ‘have. “ Then it is you sticking to me,” laughed Fred. “Anyhow, if we are both going to Mount Vernon we must both be going om the same business, and that is all there is of it. But, maybe you will want it all to yourself again, and if so I might as well go back the first time the train stops. Allen will get onto us, sure. I’ll’tell you one thing “ What's that?” *T am working on my own nook, now.” | _ “ And you mean to follow Allen anyhow, , abhi Well, Tam sti we have fallen out, r “So am I, but as we. don't think alike I don’t see that we ean do any good work- together, do you? You_ believe George Str oughtenberg § guilty, and I don’t, that is the difference.’ “ You wrong me, Pred. prove his innocence.” : “So am As no use talking soiker: about: | va $9 : Fred closed up at that, and. while’ the detective continued talking right along, Fred would’ say nothing ‘tha discovered, Just then Fred held. the best hand,’ On arriving at Mount Vernon, Fred ex- to the: pressed his intention of giving it up I am going to could be | twisted into meaning anything yond the | one suspicion that the sport had already: |