“What child?” asked Simpkins in an eager voice. Simpkins, as the proprietor of the club, was always treated with a certain amount of respect, but on this occasion Long John favoured him with a scowling glance. “You’ll know all if you’ll keep quiet,” he said. “A child has been kidnapped by my orders—that child from this moment belongs to our School; we bring him up in our ways, to do our business, perhaps to lead us in his turn. He is the nephew of your gentleman leader, my men. He is Adrian Rowton’s nephew.” “Silver’s nephew! Good Heaven!” cried Simpkins. He bit his lips and looked across to one of his neighbours with a glance which was half scared, half appalled. “I thought,” he said after a pause, “that matter was settled. It was proposed in this room that the child should be brought to us, but Rowton objected. It was arranged, was it not, that if Rowton did what we wanted, the child was to be let alone?” “I was in my right when I kidnapped the boy,” said Piper in that snappy voice which always characterised him when his temper was getting the upper hand. “Now, Scrivener, to business; you took the child. Where is he?” “I have him, sir.” “Where?” “In a room just above the shop in Cheapside.” “Ah! that was a good thought. Is the lad safe? Any chance of his escaping?” “None whatever,” answered Scrivener. “I need not go into particulars,” he added, “but the boy is safe enough; he won’t escape.” “That’s right; you can keep him for the present. I shall want him by-and-by. What sort of lad is he?” “I told you already, Long John, that he is about the pluckiest youngster I ever came across. To be honest, now,” continued Scrivener, “I didn’t like the job of taking that little game chap away a bit, and I hope—yes, I do—that he’ll soon have his liberty. I don’t hold with bringing up boys to our trade, that I don’t.” “Nor do I,” said Simpkins. “It’s ⸺ hard,” he added, “and it don’t seem a bit fair to a straightforward fellow like Silver.” “Silence!” said Piper. “Simpkins, when I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. The boy is not to have his liberty. I shall probably send him to America by-and-by.” “To America!” cried Scrivener. “Yes, why not? Am I your head, or am I not, men?” “Of course you’re our head, Long John,” said a surly bulldog-looking man who stood near. “Well, then, am I to direct proceedings, or am I not?” “You are, you are, Piper,” said several. “Let me hear no more grumbling, then. I propose to send the kid to America before long. The members of our School there will receive him with effusion, and the puppy can be brought up from tender years to walk in the way in which he should go. There’s only one thing now to be said, and it is this; that boy never returns to Rowton Heights. Should any member of this club be base enough to reveal his whereabouts, or even give the slightest hint to Adrian Rowton, he gets the black mark.”