Was not this very like a conspiracy? Did not the whole affair bear the appearance of what is commonly termed a put-up job? Most decidedly it was so, and yet, so far as he was aware, the boy, in spite of his misfortunes, did not possess an enemy in the world. Who, then, would be likely to go out of their way to plot against an individual so insignificant as himself? It was at the precise moment in which Frank, propounding that question to his troubled mind, heard above the heads of the officer and himself that strange, bat-like cry. Again the cry was repeated, his conductor advancing before him to ascertain its cause, as has already been described. Now, such a thought as trying to escape had never once entered into Frank Mansfield's head. Handcuffed as he stood, to attempt to run with any hope of distancing his pursuer would have been simple folly at best. Moreover, such an action upon his part he knew perfectly well would only add to the appearance of guilt, quite strong enough against him as matters already stood. The German policeman had advanced before him, and was peering up among the vines clustered about the top of the Trinity church-yard wall, when Frank, also looking about, perceived close by his side one of the great iron doors, of which there are several at this point set in the wall, opening to the tombs built beneath the bank which rose behind. Now Frank had often noticed these doors, and as often had carelessly wondered what sort of looking places they might conceal. Just now he gave the one before which he stood no thought at all, his mind being occupied by his unfortunate situation, and his immediate attention attracted by the bat-like cry from above. His surprise was, therefore, intense when he suddenly perceived the iron door softly open to an extent sufficient to admit the body of a man. In the aperture stood a boyish form, rendered plainly visible by the light of a street lamp which stood directly opposite the door itself. Nor was his surprise less in recognizing in the face before him that of a bootblack who had every afternoon for more than a year past polished his shoes at the close of business hours at the bank. With a quick movement the boy extended his hand and silently beckoned to him to come in. The policeman was still skirmishing along the foot of the wall with his head in the air, for that the whole thing occupied but the space of an instant must be distinctly understood, and yielding to an uncontrollable impulse, without the slightest thought of what the result of such action might be, Frank stepped within the iron door by the bootblack's side. In an instant the door was noiselessly closed behind him, rendering the darkness entire. The boy, without a word, took Frank by the arm and led him forward, up several steps, and opening a second door of iron like the first, ushered him into a low-vaulted apartment not higher than his head.