“Must be some mistake,” he said.  “There’s no gentleman of the name of Barnes here.”

“It’s strange,” said Ben, perplexed.

He turned to go out, but was interrupted.  A man with a sinister expression, and the muscle of a prize fighter, walked up to him and said, with a scowl: 

“What brings you here, kid?”

“I received a letter from Mr. Barnes, appointing to meet me here.”

“I believe you are lying.  No such man comes here.”

“I never lie,” exclaimed Ben indignantly.

“Have you got that letter about you?” asked the man suspiciously.

Ben felt in his pocket for the letter, but felt in vain.

“I think I must have left it at home,” he said nervously.

The man’s face darkened.

“I believe you come here as a spy,” he said.

“Then you are mistaken!” said Ben, looking him fearlessly in the face.

“I hope so, for your sake.  Do you know what kind of a place this is?”

“I suppose it is a gambling house,” Ben answered, without hesitation.

“Did you know this before you came here?”

“I had not the least idea of it.”

The man regarded him suspiciously, but no one could look into Ben’s honest face and doubt his word.

“At any rate, you’ve found it out.  Do you mean to blab?”

“No; that is no business of mine.”

“Then you can go, but take care that you never come here again.”

“I certainly never will.”

“Give me your name and address.”

“Why do you want it?”

“Because if you break your word, you will be tracked and punished.”

“I have no fear,” answered Ben, and he gave his name and address.

“Never admit this boy again, Peter,” said the man with whom Ben had been conversing; neither this boy, nor any other, except a telegraph boy.”

“All right, sah.”

A minute later, Ben found himself on the street, very much perplexed by the events of the evening.  Who could have invited him to a gambling house, and with what object in view?  Moreover, why had not James Barnes kept the appointment he had himself made?  These were questions which Ben might have been better able to answer if he could have seen, just around the corner, the triumphant look of one who was stealthily watching him.

This person was Conrad Hill, who took care to vacate his position before Ben had reached the place where he was standing.

“So far, so good!” he muttered to himself.  “Master Ben has been seen coming out of a gambling house.  That won’t be likely to recommend him to Mrs. Hamilton, and she shall know it before long.”

Ben could not understand what had become of the note summoning him to the gambling house.  In fact, he had dislodged it from the vest pocket in which he thrust it, and it had fallen upon the carpet near the desk in what Mrs. Hamilton called her “office.”  Having occasion to enter the room in the evening, his patroness saw it on the carpet, picked it up, and read it, not without surprise.