blanket much the worse for wear and the want of washing.

"Now, come on, before anybody else spots us!" exclaimed Baxter.
"If you can lift him alone I'll bring the light. I'm no good on
the carry yet."

"All right, light the way," answered Buddy Girk, and took up the
form of the boy.

Taking up the smoky lamp, Arnold Baxter led the way out of a rear
door to a side hallway. Here two flights of stairs led to a low
and ill ventilated cellar. The underground apartment had never
been used for anything but old rubbish, and this was piled high
on all sides.

"Here we are," said Baxter, as he paused in front of what had
once been a stone coal bin. "Dump him in there and shut the door
on him. I don't believe he'll get out in any hurry."

Dick's form was dropped on a heap of dirty newspapers and straw.
Then Girk and Baxter left the bin. There was a heavy door to the
place, and this they closed and shoved the rusty bolt into the
socket. In a second more they were on their way upstairs again,
and Dick was left to his fate.





CHAPTER VIII