Joe the Hotel Boy

THE PARTICULARS OF A SWINDLE.

“This hotel haunted?” gasped the proprietor.  “Sir, you are mistaken.  Such a thing is impossible.”

“It is true,” insisted Mr. Wilberforce Chaster.  “I shall not stay here another night.”

“What makes you think it is haunted?”

“There is a ghost in my room.”

“Oh!” shrieked a maid who had come on the scene.  “A ghost!  I shall not stay either!”

“What kind of a ghost?” demanded Andrew Mallison.

“A—­er—­a skeleton—­and some skulls!  I saw them with my own eyes,” went on the victim.  “Come and see them for yourself.”

“This is nonsense,” said the hotel proprietor.  “I will go and convince you that you are mistaken.”

He led the way and half a dozen followed, including Wilberforce Chaster, who kept well to the rear.  Just as the party reached the door of the apartment Joe and the bell boy came up.

Without hesitation Andrew Mallison threw open the door of the room and looked inside.  Of course he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Where is your ghost?” he demanded.  “I see nothing of it.”

“Don’t—­don’t you see—­er—­a skeleton?” demanded the man who had been victimized.

“I do not.”

Trembling in every limb Wilberforce Chaster came forward and peered into the room.

“Well?” demanded the hotel proprietor, after a pause.

“I—­I certainly saw them.”

“Then where are they now?”

“I—­I don’t know.”

By this time others were crowding into the apartment.  All gazed around, and into the clothes closet, but found nothing unusual.

“You must be the victim of some hallucination, sir,” said the hotel proprietor, severely.

He hated to have anything occur which might give his establishment a bad reputation.

“No, sir, I saw the things with my own eyes.”

The matter was talked over for several minutes longer and then the hired help was ordered away.

“I shall not stay in this room,” insisted Wilberforce Chaster.

“You need not remain in the hotel,” answered Andrew Mallison, quickly.  “You can leave at once.  You have alarmed the whole establishment needlessly.”

Some warm words followed, and the upshot of the matter was that the fussy old boarder had to pack his things and seek another hotel that very night.

“I am glad to get rid of him,” said the hotel proprietor, after Wilberforce Chaster had departed.  “He was making trouble all the time.”

“We fixed him, didn’t we?” said the bell boy to Joe.

“I hope it teaches him a lesson to be more considerate in the future,” answered our hero.

Several days passed and Joe had quite a few parties to take out on the lake.  The season was now drawing to a close, and our hero began to wonder what he had best do when boating was over.

“I wonder if I couldn’t strike something pretty good in Philadelphia?” he asked himself.  The idea of going to one of the big cities appealed to him strongly.

One afternoon, on coming in from a trip across the lake, Joe found Andrew Mallison in conversation with Mr. Maurice Vane, who had arrived at the hotel scarcely an hour before.  The city man was evidently both excited and disappointed.

“Here is the boy now,” said the hotel proprietor, and called Joe up.

“Well, young man, I guess you have hit the truth,” were Maurice Vane’s first words.

“About those other fellows?” asked our hero, quickly.

“That’s it.”

“Did they swindle you?”

“They did.”

“By selling you some worthless mining stocks?”

“Yes.  If you will, I’d like you to tell me all you can about those two men.”

“I will,” answered Joe, and told of the strange meeting at the old lodge and of what had followed.  Maurice Vane drew a long breath and shook his head sadly.

“I was certainly a green one, to be taken in so slyly,” said he.

“How did they happen to hear of you?” questioned Joe, curiously.

“I answered an advertisement in the daily paper,” said Maurice Vane.  “Then this man, Caven, or whatever his right name may be, came to me and said he had a certain plan for making a good deal of money.  All I had to do was to invest a certain amount and inside of a few days I could clear fifteen or twenty thousand dollars.”

“That was surely a nice proposition,” said Joe, with a smile.

“I agreed to go into the scheme if it was all plain sailing and then this Caven gave me some of the details.  He said there was a demand for a certain kind of mining shares.  He knew an old miner who was sick and who was willing to sell the shares he possessed for a reasonable sum of money.  The plan was to buy the shares and then sell them to another party—­a broker—­at a big advance in price.”

“That was simple enough,” put in Andrew Mallison.

“Caven took me to see a man who called himself a broker.  He had an elegant office and looked prosperous.  He told us he would be glad to buy certain mining shares at a certain figure if he could get them in the near future.  He said a client was red-hot after the shares.  I questioned him closely and he appeared to be a truthful man.  He said some folks wanted to buy out the mine and consolidate it with another mine close by.”

“And then you came here and bought the stock of Malone?” queried Joe.

“Yes.  Caven made me promise to give him half the profits and I agreed.  I came here, and as you know, Malone, or Ball, or whatever his name is, pretended to be very sick and in need of money.  He set his price, and I came back with the cash and took the mining stock.  I was to meet Caven, alias Anderson, the next day and go to the broker with him, but Caven did not appear.  Then I grew suspicious and went to see the broker alone.  The man was gone and the office locked up.  After that I asked some other brokers about the stock, and they told me it was not worth five cents on the dollar.”

“Isn’t there any such mine at all?” asked Joe.

“Oh, yes, there is such a mine, but it was abandoned two years ago, after ten thousand dollars had been sunk in it.  They said it paid so little that it was not worth considering.”

“That is certainly too bad for you,” said Joe.  “And you can’t find any trace of Caven or Malone?”

“No, both of the rascals have disappeared completely.  I tried to trace Caven and his broker friend in Philadelphia but it was of no use.  More than likely they have gone to some place thousands of miles away.”

“Yes, and probably this Ball, or Malone, has joined them,” put in Andrew Mallison.  “Mr. Vane, I am exceedingly sorry for you.”

“I am sorry for myself, but I deserve my loss, for being such a fool,” went on the victim.

“Have you notified the police?” asked Joe.

“Oh, yes, and I have hired a private detective to do what he can, too.  But I am afraid my money is gone for good.”

“You might go and reopen the mine, Mr. Vane.”

“Thank you, but I have lost enough already, without throwing good money after bad, as the saying is.”

“It may be that that detective will find the swindlers, sooner or later.”

“Such a thing is, of course, possible, but I am not over sanguine.”

“I am afraid your money is gone for good,” broke in Andrew Mallison.  “I wish I could help you, but I don’t see how I can.”

The matter was talked over for a good hour, and all three visited the room Malone had occupied, which had been vacant ever since.  But a hunt around revealed nothing of value, and they returned to the office.

“I can do nothing more for you, Mr. Vane,” said Andrew Mallison.

“I wish I could do something,” said Joe.  Something about Maurice Vane was very attractive to him.

“If you ever hear of these rascals let me know,” continued the hotel proprietor.

“I will do so,” was the reply.

With that the conversation on the subject closed.  Maurice Vane remained at the hotel overnight and left by the early train on the following morning.