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The boys presently passed an office building in which there was a large telephone station, and there they hunted up Jesse Pelter's home address. "He lives up in the Bronx," said Dick, taking down the street and number. "We can find out up at the hotel how to reach the place. Let us go back to the Outlook and see if there is any letter from home.
I wish I could do something to help you, for what you did for me," returned Barton Pelter; and his voice had a rather wistful ring in it. Then the theater was darkened and the next photo drama began. "Are you doing anything as yet?" questioned Tom, when, at the end of this play, he saw Jesse Pelter's nephew prepare to leave.
In one way, I feel sorry for the old fellow, but he brought the accident on himself. What a shame that a man with his education couldn't have remained honest and straightforward. "As I said above, Pelter, Japson & Company, are going to give up business here. Just the same, I don't like Pelter's actions at all.
"I believe you're right, Tom," came from Sam, "because if he didn't do it, who did?" "I think I can make sure of this," returned Tom. "Let us go back to the offices." Tom had taken possession of one of the desks in the place, and in one of the pigeonholes he had placed a number of letters, including the one received while at college from Jesse Pelter's nephew.
Outside the railroad station taxicabs were numerous, and the boys quickly hired one of the best of the machines and gave the driver directions where to go. "And don't lose any time," ordered Dick. "I'll run as fast as I dare," returned the chauffeur. The ride to Crowley Pelter's residence took a good three-quarters of an hour. The place was a small but well-kept one on a corner.
"I guess I had better go in alone," suggested Dick. "If I need you I'll whistle or wave my handkerchief;" and then he ran up the front steps and rang the bell. A tall, angular woman, wearing large spectacles, soon answered his summons. "Good afternoon," said Dick, politely. "Is this Mr. Crowley Pelter's residence?" "Yes, sir." "I believe Mr. Jesse Pelter is staying here.
From the room came a murmur of voices, and without speaking further the detective motioned for the Rover boys to join him beside the window. Although the slatted shutter was up, evidently the glass of the window had been let down its full length, for those outside could hear what was said within with ease. "That proposition is all right as far as it goes," they heard, in Jesse Pelter's voice.
"Go to a front window and watch the road," ordered his big brother. "If you see any help coming, call them." Tom at once departed, to station himself at the window of one of the front bed chambers. By this time a clattering of feet could be heard on the garret stairs. "He has locked the door on us!" came a cry in Jesse Pelter's voice. "How did he get free?" asked Japson.
"See that fellow over there, leaning against the fence, reading a newspaper?" "Why, I declare! It is Barton Pelter!" ejaculated Sam. "You mean Jesse Pelter's nephew the chap you hauled out of the river?" questioned Dick. "The same," returned Tom. "Say, I think I'll go over and talk to him," he added, quickly. "He may not want to talk to you, Tom," interposed his younger brother.
"I wish all this trouble was over, and we could be married and go off on our honeymoon!" The boys had found out from the hotel clerk how to reach the address in the Bronx, as the upper portion of New York city is locally called. They could take a subway train to within two blocks of Pelter's home.
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