THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE.
The man with the message was smooth-faced and shrewd-appearing. He
stepped out from the Tontine briskly. He was dressed in a plain gray
suit of clothes.
“After him!” whispered Mescal. “He has the message! Get it
somehow--anyhow! Get it before Merriwell reads it!”
“I’ll do my best,” promised Packard. “Where’ll I find you?”
“Here--at this hotel.”
Without another word, Roland Packard started after the man in gray. Up
Chapel Street went the man, with Roland not far behind.
The student was trying to think of some way to secure the message. He
was desperate, and desperate schemes flitted through his brain. He
thought of attacking the man on the street and trying to go through his
pockets; but New Haven was thronged with visitors, old and young, and
Packard found no opportunity, knowing full well that all chances of
success were against him. Desperate though he was, he had no relish for
arrest on the charge of assault and robbery. But Roland’s eyes were
open, and he was on the watch for an opportunity. Still, something told
him that the man was going directly to Merriwell, and he felt that his
show of accomplishing his purpose was becoming smaller with every step.
Already preparations were being made for a hilarious time in the
vicinity of Osborne Hall that night. Packard knew there would be
speeches, cheering, red fire, and all that, but he gave it no thought
now.
“All New Haven has gone daffy over Merriwell!” he muttered to himself,
as he heard Frank’s name spoken many times by passing men. “Anybody
would think there was nothing else to talk of! Merriwell eclipses class
day, senior prom, graduation, everything. Oh, if I could get a last
crack at him right in the height of his glory! And to make five hundred
plunks at the same time. I must do it somehow!”
But how?--that was the question. He ground his teeth as he saw his
chances diminishing. The campus was reached, and the man in gray made
directly for Vanderbilt.
“Going straight to Merriwell’s room!” thought Roland. “Perhaps I’ll
have a chance on the stairs.”
No one paid much attention to Packard. Everybody seemed hilariously
happy. He was close behind the bearer of the message when that
individual entered Vanderbilt; but the opportunity did not come. It
seemed that a perfect stream of men was making for Merriwell’s room or
coming from it.
“Just pouring congratulations on him,” said the medic. “Oh, he’s the
king-pin here!”
He saw the messenger reach the door of Frank’s room, which was standing
wide open. Within that room there seemed to be a mass of happy students.
“No use!” grated Packard. “I didn’t get a chance!”
Just then Oliver Packard and Hock Mason came out and descended the
stairs. Neither of them observed Roland.
“He has been there,” muttered Merry’s enemy, looking after his twin
brother, whom he so closely resembled in outward appearance, although
otherwise there was not the slightest similarity.
Then a sudden thought came to him. In the past he had been mistaken for
Oliver a score of times, and again he might perpetrate the deception.
No one would expect him to boldly enter Merriwell’s room. If any one
had observed the departure of Oliver, it might be fancied that Oliver
had returned, if Roland were seen.
“I’ll do it!” he muttered, and he boldly followed the messenger into
the room.
He saw Frank in the midst of his friends. He would have given ten
years of his life to win such homage from that admiring throng. Yet he
could not help seeing that Frank Merriwell bore himself with perfect
modesty, as if feeling himself no better than his humblest friend.
Merry’s position was most difficult, and only a man of remarkable tact
could have filled it without seeming to pose. It was this atmosphere
maintained by Frank at all times that had made him so popular. He did
not betray exaltation, and yet in no way did he lower himself by his
quiet, unaffected manners.
The man in gray slowly pushed forward till he could touch Frank’s arm.
In a moment when Merry was not engaged, the stranger spoke, saying:
“Mr. Merriwell, I beg your pardon for bothering you now, but my
business is most important. I will trouble you only a minute, if you
will kindly step aside.”
Frank was surprised, but his courtesy was sufficient to enable him to
betray it only by a slight lifting of the eyebrows. Then he excused
himself to those immediately about him and stepped apart with the man.
“I would not have bothered you now,” said the stranger, “but I am the
bearer of an important message to you, and I wish to get it out of my
hands without delay, as there is danger that I may lose it. I shall
not feel easy till I have turned it over to you, when my task will be
completed.”
“A message?” said Frank. “From whom?”
“I do not know. I know nothing, save that I have been paid a large sum
of money to bring it to you, and to guard it with my life till it is in
your hands.”
Such a statement as this was calculated to arouse interest.
“And you do not know whom the message is from?”
“I do not. It was not my place to make inquiries. All I know is that I
have been pursued from Colorado to this city by a man who has seemed
determined to rob me of it.”
This added to the interest.
“But he did not succeed?”
“No, sir. I am here, and I have the message, which I will now hand over
to you.”
From an inner pocket the man took an oilskin envelope, which he gave to
Frank, who looked at it curiously. On the envelope were traced these
words:
“To Frank Harrison Merriwell; not to be opened until the day after he
graduates from Yale.”
The moment Frank saw that writing, which was wavering and unsteady, he
uttered a little exclamation, his face paling.
“It’s from my father!” he murmured. “I wonder what it can be!”
The messenger now presented a receipt for Frank to sign, having
produced a fountain pen.
Merry signed the receipt, although for some reason which he himself did
not fully understand his hand was not as steady as usual.
“There,” said the man, “I thank goodness that my task is accomplished!”
“Who gave you this?” asked Frank.
“My chief.”
“Your chief? You mean----”
“I am in the employ of the Great Western Detective Agency, of Denver,
and my chief placed this in my hands. He stated that I was to receive
two thousand dollars if I delivered it into your hands. He had been
asked to name a man who was reliable, and I was chosen. The man who
sent the message fixed the remuneration I was to receive. What he paid
the chief I do not know.”
Strange thoughts ran riot in Frank’s brain. He had not heard from his
father for some time, and he had not seen Mr. Merriwell since they
parted in Florida. The last letter had assured Frank that his father
was safe and comfortable, and, knowing the peculiarities of the man,
he had not worried much for all of the period of silence. But now
something told Merry that strange things were soon to happen.
“You have performed your duty well,” said Merry, as he returned the pen
to the man in gray.
“Thank you,” said the stranger quietly. “And now I will bid you
good-by.”
Then he quietly departed, leaving the mysterious message, and Frank
stood there studying the oilskin envelope, wondering what it contained.
For the time he forgot his surroundings, forgot the friends who were
present, forgot the triumphs of the day, and gave himself up to vain
speculation.
His father was a most mysterious man, seldom doing anything in a
conventional manner. Yet somehow it seemed to Merry that this did not
account for the care and expense to which Mr. Merriwell had gone in
order to have the message safely delivered into the hands of his son.
Of course Frank had no thought of opening that envelope before the time
set--the day after graduation. He wondered if it could be that the
envelope contained a check for a large sum of money which he was to use
in starting out in a business career. Anyhow, it was certain, Merry
thought, that the contents must be valuable.
He was not aware of a pair of greedy eyes fastened upon him. He was not
aware of a person who moved cautiously toward him without attracting
attention.
Roland Packard was desperate. The message had been delivered, but as
yet Merriwell knew nothing of its import. Packard reasoned that this
was his last chance to earn that alluring five hundred dollars.
Reaching a favorable position, Roland glanced round toward the door,
observing that, for the present, the coast was clear.
Then he turned, and, like a flash, his hand went out, his fingers
closing on the envelope, which was snatched from Merriwell’s grasp.
Without a word, without a sound, the desperate student leaped toward
the door.
Merry, who had thought himself surrounded by friends, who to the last
man were constant and true, had been taken utterly by surprise, but he
quickly recovered.
“Stop, Packard!”
With that cry, he sprang after Roland, who was vanishing through the
door. In a moment there was great excitement in the room.
Hans Dunnerwurst had seen the envelope snatched from Merry’s fingers,
and he tried to overtake Roland, shouting:
“Come away back mit dot! Id dit nod belonging to you!”
In his rush for the door he collided with Ephraim Gallup, who likewise
had leaped after the thief, and they went down heavily in the doorway,
locked fast in each other’s arms.
“Gol ding a fool!” spluttered the youth from Vermont.
Merry was compelled to leap over them both, which he did, dashing out
after Packard. Half-way down the stairs Frank clutched Oliver, who was
calmly returning to Merry’s room.
“Give it up!” commanded Merry sternly.
Oliver was astounded.
“Give what up?” he asked.
“The message.”
“What message?”
“You know. This is no time for joking, and it is a very poor joke, at
best.”
“Joke?” said Oliver wonderingly. “What are you talking about,
Merriwell? I know nothing of any joke.”
Frank held him off and looked at him sternly. Merry’s friends were
swarming to the head of the stairs.
“Frank’s got him!” they cried.
“Yaw!” shouted Hans Dunnerwurst. “Dot vos der lobsder vot didded id!
Holdt him onto, Vrankie!”
“Shut yeour maouth, yeou dinged Dutch chump!” came from Gallup. “Yeou
come nigh fixin’ it so he couldn’t git him.”
“Roight ye are, Gallup, me bhoy,” put in Mulloy. “Thot Dutch chaze is
foriver in th’ way.”
To the eyes of Merry the look of amazement on Oliver Packard’s face
seemed genuine.
“What has happened?” Oliver asked. “I heard the sudden commotion, and
then you came leaping down here at me.”
“Make him give it up, Merry!” cried the students above.
“I’ve got nothing to give up,” protested Oliver, his face, which had
turned pale, now flushing hotly. “What do they mean?”
Frank Merriwell was doing some swift thinking just then. He had not
seen Oliver leave the room in company with Hock Mason, and he had not
observed Roland’s face fairly as the latter whirled with the snatched
envelope in his grasp; but he realized that Oliver’s actions in the
past had stamped him as in no respect likely to perpetrate such a
trick, while it was very much like his brother.
But it did not seem that Roland had been in the room. That he would
dare come there in the midst of Merry’s friends seemed utterly beyond
reason, and not worthy of consideration. Yet Frank asked Oliver a
question:
“Where is Roland?”
Again Oliver’s face paled.
“Roland?” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Didn’t he pass you just now on these stairs?”
“He did not.”
Frank’s face was hard and grim.
“Come up to my room,” he commanded.
Oliver did not demur. He saw Frank’s friends regarding him with looks
of accusation, but, knowing he was not guilty of any wrong-doing, he
quietly ascended the stairs and entered Merriwell’s room.
At that moment, panting, yet trying to still his breathing and his
thumping heart, Roland Packard was listening behind the closed door of
another room near Merriwell’s, into which he had darted. He had seen
the door slightly ajar, and had leaped in there as he fled with the
stolen message.
As Oliver, surrounded by Frank’s friends, entered Merriwell’s room,
Roland opened the door the least bit and cautiously peered out. His
ears had told him something of the truth, and he chuckled to think that
his brother had appeared just in time to fall into the hands of the
pursuers.
“He’s all right,” thought the young scoundrel. “And he turned up at
just the right moment to divert suspicion from me long enough for me to
get away. My last blow at Merriwell will be effective, and I’ll make a
ten-strike at the same time.”
He saw Merriwell’s door closed by some one who meant to make sure that
the captured suspect should not break away and escape. Then Roland
stole swiftly out from the room and hastened down the stairs, chuckling
with evil triumph.
Oliver Packard was in a bad scrape, and somehow his face seemed to
indicate that he felt guilt. Still he persisted in being told what had
happened. When he heard the story, he firmly said:
“This is a mistake, Merriwell--I swear it! I left this room ten or
fifteen minutes ago in company with Hock Mason, as I can prove. I left
Mason outside and came back. I was just in time for you to rush out and
grasp me on the stairs. This is the truth, as Heaven hears me!”
There were murmurs of doubt on all sides. Many of Merry’s friends had
never trusted Oliver fully, being inclined to judge him by the conduct
of his brother. Some of them had remonstrated with Frank for his
friendliness with Oliver. These were the ones who now muttered their
incredulity on listening to the words of the suspected student.
Oliver turned pale as he heard that muttering.
“Search him!” said somebody.
“Search him!” was the cry.
“Yes, search me!” panted Oliver. “I demand to be searched!”
“No,” said Frank, as his hand fell on Oliver’s shoulder. “I believe
you! I am satisfied that you speak the truth. It is a mistake.”
“But we saw him with the envelope in his hand,” said Dade Morgan.
“It was not I!” asserted Oliver.
“No, it was not you,” agreed Merriwell, “but it was one who hates me
and who looks so much like you that we were all deceived.”
“My brother!” muttered Oliver huskily.
“It must have been,” nodded Frank. “He has stolen that message, which
is of great value to me.”
“Merriwell,” exclaimed Oliver Packard excitedly, “I’ll recover the
message for you! Trust me to get it. I will restore it to you, if I
live!”