And with a few parting words of caution the Irishman took his departure, first pausing long enough to advise Tom to change his quarters if he was spared until the morrow, and suggesting that the wisest thing he could do was to get out of New York as speedily as he knew how.

As may well be imagined, Tom Gordon was not likely to fall asleep again that night, so, having fully dressed himself, he sat down on the edge of the bed to wait and watch.

A small transom over his door admitted enough light to discern objects with sufficient distinctness in the room, and he carefully shoved the bolt in place, feeling he was prepared for any emergency.

Even with such an exciting subject to occupy his thoughts, he could not fail to wonder and fear for his missing friend.  He prayed Heaven to watch over the boy’s footsteps and to prevent his wandering into any danger, while the feeling that the poor fellow was already beyond all human help weighed down the heart of Tom like a mountain of lead.

This suspense did not continue long when the watchful lad heard some one ascending the stairs—­an action which might mean nothing or a great deal.

The room occupied by the boy was along a narrow hall, perhaps fifty feet in length, the apartment being half that distance from the head of the stairs.

It seemed to Tom that there was an attempt to smother the sound made by the feet, which plainly belonged to two people, though the effort was far from being a success.

“They may be going to their own room, after all”—­

The heart of the lad gave a great bound, for at that instant the footsteps paused directly in front of his own door, and he could hear the men muttering to each other in low tones.

“They’re looking for me,” was the conclusion of the boy, who grasped his pistol more rigidly, and rose to the standing posture.

“If they want me, all they’ve got to do is to take me.”

What was the amazement of the youth to see at this moment, while his eyes were fixed upon the door, the iron bolt slowly move back, without, so far as he could see, the least human agency.

This was a house, indeed, in which such characters were given every facility they could wish to ply their unholy vocation.

Immediately after the fastening went back, the latch was lifted, and the door swung noiselessly inward.

As it did so, a head, covered only with a mass of shock hair, which hung down like pieces of tarred rope, and with the lower part of the face veiled by a black, stringy beard, was thrust far enough within to show the shoulders.  Directly behind appeared another face, placed on a shorter body, but none the less repellant in expression, and the two were forcing their way into the room, when they paused.

They seemed to conclude that it would be best to consider the matter further before rushing in there.

Instead of seeing a boy sound asleep in bed, waiting for them to rob him of all his earthly possessions, they found themselves confronted by a wide-awake lad, with his revolver pointed straight at their villainous heads.