Rough and Ready had just laid in a supply of afternoon papers, and resumed his usual position in front of the "Times" office, when Ben Gibson came round the corner, just returned from his expedition to Brooklyn, the particulars of which are given in the last chapter.

"What luck, Ben?" asked the newsboy, anxiously.

"Tip-top," said Ben.

"You don't mean to say you've found her?" said Rough and Ready, eagerly.

"Yes, I have,—leastways I've found where she's kept."

"Tell me about it. How did you manage?"

"I followed your respected father down Spruce Street," said Ben. "He stopped to take a little something strong in Water Street, which made him rather top-heavy. I offered him my protection, which he thankfully accepted; so we went home together as intimate as brothers."

"Did he suspect anything?"

"Not a bit; I told him I know'd you, and owed you a lickin', which impressed his affectionate heart very favorably. When'll you take it?"

"What?"

"The lickin'."

"Not at present," said Rough and Ready, laughing. "I guess it'll keep."

"All right. Any time you want it, just let me know."

"Go ahead. Where does he live?"

"In Brooklyn. We went over Fulton Ferry, and then took the horse-cars a couple of miles. I paid the old chap's fare."

"I'll make it right with you. Did you see Rose?"

"No; but I'll remember the house."

"Ben, you're a trump. I was afraid you wouldn't succeed. Now tell me when I had better go for her? Shall it be to-night?"

"No," said Ben; "he'll be at home to-night. Besides, she won't be allowed to come out. If we go over to-morrow, we may meet her walkin' out somewhere. Then we can carry her off without any fuss."

"I don't know but you're right," said the newsboy, thoughtfully; "but it is hard to wait. I'm afraid she won't be treated well, poor little Rose!"

Rufus proposed to go over in the evening and reconnoitre, but it occurred to him that if he were seen and recognized by Mr. Martin, the latter would be on his guard, and perhaps remove her elsewhere, or keep her so strictly guarded that there would be no opportunity of reclaiming her. He was forced, therefore, to wait with what patience he might till the next morning. He went round to tell Miss Manning of his success. She sympathized heartily with him, for she had felt an anxiety nearly as great as his own as to the fate of the little girl whose presence had lighted up her now lonely room with sunshine.

After spending a portion of the evening with her, he came out again into the streets. It was his usual time for going to the Lodging House; but he felt restless and wakeful, and preferred instead to wander about the streets.

At ten o'clock he felt the promptings of appetite, and, passing an oyster saloon, determined to go in and order a stew.

It was not a very fashionable place. There was a general air of dinginess and lack of neatness pervading the place. The apartment was small, and low-studded. On one side was a bar, on the other, two or three small compartments provided with tables, with curtains screening them from the main room.

It was not a very inviting place, but the newsboy, though more particular than most of his class, reflected that the oysters might nevertheless be good.

"Give us a stew," he said to a young man behind the counter, whose countenance was ornamented with pimples.

"All right. Anything to drink?"

"No sir," said our hero.

Rufus entered the only one of the alcoves which was unoccupied. The curtains of the other two were drawn. The one which he selected was the middle one of three, so that what was going on in both was audible to him. The one in front appeared to have a solitary occupant, and nothing was heard from it but the clatter of a knife and fork.

But there were evidently two persons in the other, for Rufus was able to make out a low conversation which was going on between them. The first words were heard with difficulty, but afterwards, either because they spoke louder or because his ear got more accustomed to the sounds, he made out everything.

"You are sure about the money, Jim," said one.

"Yes."

"How do you know it?"

"Never mind how I know it. It makes no odds as long as he's got it, and we are going to take it."

"That's the main thing. Now tell me your plans."

"He'll be going home about half-past eleven, somewhere from there to twelve, and we must lie in wait for him. It's a cool thousand, that'll be five hundred apiece."

"I need it bad enough, for I'm dead broke."

"So am I. Got down to my last dollar, and no chance of another, unless this little plan of ours works."

"It's dangerous."

"Of course there's a risk. There won't be any time to lose. The policeman's got a long beat. We must make the attack when he's out of the way. There'll be no time to parley."

"If he resist—"

"Knock him on the head. A minute'll be enough."

There was some further conversation carried on in a low voice, from which the newsboy, who listened with attention, gathered full particulars of the meditated attack. It appears that the intended victim of the plot was a Wall Street broker, who was likely to be out late in the evening with a considerable sum of money about him. How the two desperadoes concerned in the plot had obtained this information did not appear. This, however, is not necessary to the comprehension of the story. Enough that they had intended to make criminal use of that knowledge.

"What shall I do?" thought the newsboy, when by careful listening he arrived at a full comprehension of the plot in all its details. "There'll be robbery, and perhaps murder done unless I interfere."

It required some courage to do anything. The men were not only his superiors in physical strength, but they were doubtless armed, and ready, if interfered with, to proceed to extremities. But the newsboy had one of those strong and hardy natures to which fear is a stranger,—at least so far as his own safety was concerned. This proceeded from his strength and physical vigor, and entire freedom from that nervousness which often accompanies a more fragile organization.

"I'll stop it if I can," he decided, promptly, without a thought of the risk he might incur.

One circumstance might interfere: they might leave the saloon before he was ready to do so, and thus he would lose track of them. Unfortunately, the place where the attack was to be made had not yet been mentioned. But he was relieved of this apprehension when he heard the curtain drawn aside, and a fresh order given to the waiter. At that moment his own stew was brought, and placed on the table before him.

"I shall get through as soon as they do," thought Rufus. "There will be nothing to hinder my following them."

After finishing his own oysters, he waited until his neighbors, who were more deliberate, were ready to go out. When he heard their departure, he also drew the curtain, and stepped into the room. He took care not to look too closely at them, but one quick glance daguerreotyped their features in his memory. One was a short, stout man, with a heavy face and lowering expression; the other was taller and slighter, with a face less repulsive. The former, in rushing into crime, appeared to be following the instincts of a brutal nature. The other looked as if he might have been capable of better things, had circumstances been different.

The two exchanged a look when they saw the newsboy coming out of the compartment adjoining their own, as if to inquire whether he was likely to have heard any of their conversation. But Rufus assumed such an indifferent and unconcerned an expression, that their suspicions, if they had any, were dispelled, and they took no further notice of him.

They settled for what they had eaten, and the newsboy, hastily throwing down the exact change for his oysters, followed them out.

They turned up a side street, conversing still in a low tone. Rufus, though appearing indifferent, listened intently. At length he heard what he had been anxious to hear,—the scene of the intended attack.

The information gave him this important advantage: He was no longer under the necessity of dogging the steps of the two men, which, if persisted in, would have been likely to attract their attention and arouse their suspicions. He was able now to leave them. All that would be necessary was to be on the spot at the time mentioned, or a little earlier. But what preparations should he make? For a boy to think of engaging single-handed with two ruffians was of course foolhardy. Yet it was desirable that he should have a weapon of some kind. Here, however, there was a difficulty, as there were no shops probably open at that hour, where he could provide himself with what he desired.

While considering with some perplexity what he should do, he came across Tim Graves, a fellow newsboy, carrying in his hand a bat.

"How are you, Tim?" he said.

"I'm so's to be round. Where are you going?"

"Up-town on an errand. Where'd you get that bat?"

"I was up to the Park to see a base-ball match, and picked it up."

"What'll you take for it?"

"Want to buy?"

"Yes."

"I don't know," said Tim, hesitating. "It's worth a quarter."

"All right. Give it here."

"What do you want it for?"

"Somebody might attack me for my money," said Rufus. "If they do, I'll give 'em a rap with this."

The money was paid over, and the bat changed owners. It was heavy, and of hard wood, and in the hands even of a boy might prove a formidable weapon.