They had nearly reached Sixth Avenue, when his guide stopped in front of a shabby brick house.

“This is where I live,” he said.  “We will go in.”

He produced a key, opened the door, and Phil accompanied him up a shabby staircase to the third floor.  He opened the door of a rear room, and made a sign to Phil to enter.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Phil is robbed.

When he was fairly in the room Phil looked about him expecting to see Mr. Carter, but the room appeared unoccupied.  He turned to his companion, a look of surprise on his face, but he was destined to be still more surprised, and that not in a pleasant way.  His guide had locked the door from the inside and put the key in his pocket.

“What does that mean?” asked Phil, with sudden apprehension.

“What do you refer to?” asked his guide with an unpleasant smile.

“Why do you lock the door?”

“I thought it might be safest,” was the significant answer.

“I don’t believe Mr. Carter is in the house at all,” said Phil quickly.

“I don’t believe he is either, youngster.”

“Why did you tell me he was here?” demanded Phil, with rising indignation.

“I thought you wouldn’t come if I didn’t,” replied his companion nonchalantly.

“Answer me one thing, is Mr. Carter sick at all?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then I am trapped!”

“Precisely.  You may as well know the truth now.”

Phil had already conjectured the reason why he had been enticed to this poor dwelling.  The two hundred dollars which he had in his pocket made him feel very uncomfortable.  I think I may say truly that if the money had been his own he would have been less disturbed.  But he thought, with a sinking heart, that if the money should be taken from him, he would himself fall under suspicion, and he could not bear to have Mr. Carter think that he had repaid his kindness with such black ingratitude.  He might be mistaken.  The man before him might not know he had such a sum of money in his possession, and of course he was not going to give him the information.

“I am glad Mr. Carter is all right,” said Phil.  “Now tell me why you have taken such pains to get me here?”

“Why, as to that,” said his companion, “there were at least two hundred good reasons.”

Phil turned pale, for he understood now that in some way his secret was known.

“What do you mean?” he asked, not wholly able to conceal his perturbed feelings.

“You know well enough, boy,” said the other significantly.  “You’ve got two hundred dollars in your pocket.  I want it.”

“Are you a thief, then?” said Phil, with perhaps imprudent boldness.

“Just take care what you say.  I won’t be insulted by such a whipper-snapper as you.  You’d better not call names.  Hand over that money!”