"QUEER" MONEY.
"This is counterfeit!"
It was in the First National Bank of Carson, between nine and ten
o'clock of the day following Frank's arrival in the city.
Frank had found it difficult to get either of the new fifty-dollar bills
changed, and so he stepped into the bank and asked if he could be
favored there.
The bill had been scrutinized closely, the cashier had examined it
beneath a magnifying glass, after which he questioned the boy concerning
his manner of obtaining the paper, and Frank had told the truth fully
and without hesitation. Then the boy had been called into a private
room, and the cashier had declared the bill counterfeit.
Frank had been prepared for such an assertion by what went before it,
and he immediately opened his pocketbook and produced the other bill
which he had received of Isa Isban.
"Please look at this, and see if it is also counterfeit," he asked, with
remarkable coolness.
In a moment the cashier said:
"It is a mate for the first one. Both are 'queer.' My boy, this is bad
stuff to be carrying around. It is liable to bring you into no end of
trouble."
As he said this he was regarding Frank's face with a searching stare, as
if seeking to discover if the lad were honest or crooked.
Frank knew he was under suspicion, and he bore himself as quietly as
possible.
"This is the first intimation I have received that the bills are bad,"
declared the lad. "I received them as I have explained, and I have tried
in several places, this morning, to get one of them broken, but did not
succeed. I finally came here."
The cashier's brows lowered. He partially closed his eyes, and regarded
the boy steadily. Then he began once more to ask questions.
Frank knew he was in an unfortunate situation, and he decided the best
thing he could do was to answer every question truthfully, which he did.
It happened there was not much business going on in the bank. The paying
teller and the receiving teller listened to the questions and answers.
The receiving teller was a young man, and his face wore a sneering look
of incredulity. He regarded Frank with open doubt, and, once or twice,
muttered, "Ridiculous!" "Nonsense!" "A clever lie!" or something of the
sort.
The face of the paying teller was calm and unexpressive. It seemed that
he had not determined in his own mind if the boy were telling the truth.
He was listening to hear everything before he decided.
Frank explained how he came to be in Carson City, having given his name,
age, his guardian's name, told where his home was, and answered more
than a score of other questions.
The sneers of the receiving teller angered the boy; but he held his
feelings in check, and did not seem to hear the man when he proposed
that Merriwell be handed over to the special policeman in front of the
bank.
"Mr. Merriwell," said the cashier, "I shall have to take possession of
these bills."
"Why is that?"
"It is my duty. I have such instructions. You are getting off easy at
that."
"But I shall not recover my hundred dollars."
"No; that is lost. Let me tell you something: There is a band of
queer-makers somewhere in this vicinity. They do not attempt to run
their stuff into circulation around here; the most of it is put out in
Chicago. But they have been traced to this part of the country.
Detectives are at work on the case--Secret Service men, in the employ of
the government. Who these detectives are no one can say, although it has
been reported that Dan Drake is in it. Up to this time they have been
putting out tens and twenties. This fifty must be a new bit of work. And
I have something more to tell you. It is said that the queen of this
gang of counterfeiters is a beautiful young girl, who does not look to
be more than seventeen years of age. It is possible----"
But he made a gesture of anger, because such a thing should be thought
for a moment.
"It is not possible!" he said, sharply. "She is innocent of such a thing
as that! You cannot make me believe----"
He stopped, noting that the look of scorn on the face of the receiving
teller was deepening. Then, slowly and surely, the thought that the girl
had deceived him, that she was not as innocent as she looked, came upon
him. The mystery that surrounded her deepened, and a sudden longing to
know the truth grasped him.
The receiving teller laughed shortly, as he saw the changes which
flitted across the lad's face.
"There's guilt for you!" he muttered.
Frank stiffened up, giving the man a cutting look.
"What became of this girl for whom you changed two fifty-dollar bills?"
asked the cashier.
"I do not remember what became of her," declared Frank. "She was a
passenger on the Pacific Express. I left the express at Reno."
"And she went on? Bound for 'Frisco, it is likely."
Frank had not said she went on. He explained that he met a friend at
Reno, and that was how he happened to leave the express; that friend was
coming to Carson, and that was how he happened to come to Carson.
He did not tell that they had followed the girl to Carson, had shadowed
her to the house where she had stopped, and that his companion or
himself had watched that house constantly, ever since.
"Bart is watching it now," he told himself. "She can't get away. She
must explain to me how that bogus money came into her possession. I
believe I know! The man with the black mustache must have given it to
her!"
That the man with the sinister mustache was a villain he did not doubt,
but he still doubted that the girl was anything but what she
seemed--young, innocent, incapable of crime.
The cashier spoke a low word to one of his companions, and a sudden fear
came upon Frank. Was the man ordering his arrest? He could not afford to
be detained and bothered at that time. How would he solve the mystery if
they placed him under arrest?
But Frank had nerve, and he would not take to his heels, knowing such an
act would make it seem certain that he was guilty.
The receiving teller spoke sharply to the cashier, seemingly urging him
to some action; but the boy heard the cashier reply:
"It will spoil the whole thing to be too hasty."
"The boy can be made to peach on the gang," said the teller, in a
guarded tone.
"That's folly!" declared the cashier, shortly. "The boy is not
connected with the gang. Think they would send him here--to a bank--if
he were! Have a little sense, Burton!"
The teller mumbled, looking sullen and rebuffed, while Frank felt
relieved.
Then the cashier once more questioned Frank, as a lawyer might question
a witness. He tried, in various ways, to entrap the boy, but Frank made
no blunders.
After a time, the cashier seemed satisfied.
"I am sorry for you," he said. "You have lost a hundred dollars, but you
are fortunate to escape arrest and imprisonment."
"I suppose I am," admitted Frank; "and I will tell you something, now; I
propose to solve the mystery of this money. I am going to find that
girl, I am going to find out how she came to have the bogus stuff, and I
am going to bring this band of queer-makers to book, if possible."
The receiving teller laughed scornfully.
"A fine bluff!" he muttered.
The cashier gave him a crushing glance.
"You have undertaken a big job, my boy," said the latter. "I hardly
think you will be able to carry it out when government detectives are
bothered."
"I'll do my best."
"And you'll be pretty sure to get into further trouble."
"I may, but I am lucky about getting out of trouble."
"Yes, you are dead lucky," muttered the receiving teller.
The cashier gave Frank some outspoken advice, and then told the boy he
might go.
Frank left the private office and walked out of the bank. There was a
look of determination on his face.
"I don't fancy being beaten out of a hundred dollars," he said to
himself. "It's not the money so much; but if that girl knew--if she
played me----"
He stopped short, anger and disgust expressed on his face. His pride was
touched. He did not like to think that he had been thus deceived.
"I am going to know!" he vowed. "I am going to know the truth!"
He walked away, his head down, thinking. He was trying to form a plan of
action. Within a short time the mystery that surrounded the beautiful
girl with two names had deepened. He must find a way to learn the truth;
he would not be satisfied till he knew the truth.
For some time he walked along, paying little heed to his surroundings,
and then, all at once, a thought came to him:
"I am followed!"
He was confident of it. He did not look back, but he seemed to see the
shadower on his trail. They were determined to know at the bank if he
had told the truth, and a detective had been detailed to keep watch of
him.
Frank loitered along, looking into windows. He betrayed no uneasiness.
At last he came to a restaurant. Into this he wandered, proceeding to a
table at the farther end. Here he sat and gave his order.
The boy had taken a seat where he could watch the front door. In a short
time a small man entered quietly, walked straight to a table, sat down,
without glancing round, having hung his hat close at hand, and looked
over the bill of fare.
"You are the shadower," decided Frank. "I wonder how I can give you the
slip?"