Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck by Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (novels to read .txt) 📕

“Something is surely wrong somewhere,” he reasoned. “I wish I could get to the bottom of it.”

The room next to the one occupied by David Ball was empty and he slipped into this. The room contained a closet, and on the other side was another closet, opening into the room the men were in. The partition between was of boards, and as the other door stood wide open, Joe, by placing his head to the boards, could hear fairly well.

“You have the stock?” he heard Maurice Vane ask.

“Yes, in my valise. Hand me the bag and I'll show you,” answered the man in bed. “Oh, how weak I feel!” he sighed.

There was a silence and then the rustling of papers.

“And what is your bottom price for these?” went on Maurice Vane.

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

“I told Mr. Vane you might possibly take twenty-five thousand,” came from the man called Anderson.

“They ought to be worth face value—fifty thousand dollars,” said the man in bed.

A talk in a lower tone followed, and then more rustling of papers.

“I will call to-morrow with the cash,” said Maurice Vane, as he prepared to leave. “In the meantime, you promise to keep these shares for me?”

“I'll keep them until noon. I've got another offer,” said the man in bed.

“We'll be back,” put in the man called Anderson. “So don't you sell to anybody else.”

Then the two visitors left and went downstairs. Five minutes later they were driving away in the direction of the railroad station.

“This certainly beats anything I ever met before,” said Joe, to himself as he watched them go. “I'll wager all I am worth that I've met that Anderson before, and that he is a bad man. I do wish I could get at the bottom of what is going on.”

In the evening he had occasion to go upstairs in the hotel once more. To his surprise he saw Mr. David Ball sitting in a rocking-chair, calmly smoking a cigar and reading a paper.

“He isn't as sick as he was this morning,” he mused. “In fact, I don't think he is sick at all.”

He wished to be on hand the following morning, when the strangers came back, but an errand took him up the lake. He had to stop at several places, and did not start on the return until four in the afternoon.

On his way back Joe went ashore close to where the old lodge was located, and something, he could not tell what, made him run over and take a look at the spot that had proved a shelter for Ned and himself during the heavy storm. How many things had occurred since that fatal day!

As our hero looked into one of the rooms he remembered the strange men he had seen there—the fellows who had talked about mining stocks. Then, of a sudden, a revelation came to him, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.

“I've got it! I've got it!” he cried. “Mr. David Ball is that fellow who called himself Malone, and Anderson is the man named Caven! They are both imposters!”