Frank Merriwell's New Comedian; Or, The Rise of a Star

The sergeant looked up.

“Ah, Brandon,” he said to the officer, “another one?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the policeman.

“What is the charge?”

“Insulting a lady on the street.”

“Who was the lady?”

“She is coming. She will be here directly to make the complaint against him.”

Then the sergeant took a good look at the accused. He started, bent forward, and looked closer.

“Mr. Merriwell!” he exclaimed; “is it you?”

“Yes, sergeant,” bowed Frank, with a smile. “It seems to be my luck to cause you trouble once more.”

“Trouble!” ejaculated the man behind the desk. “Why, this is very surprising! And you are accused of insulting a lady?”

“I am,” was the quiet answer.

“Well! well! well! It hardly seems possible. I fail to understand why you should do such a thing. It was very kind of you to send me tickets for your performance yesterday, and I was fortunate to be able to attend. I was greatly pleased, both with your play and yourself, to say nothing of your supporting company. I see the papers have given you a great send-off, but it is no better than you merit.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Frank, simply.

The policeman began to look disturbed, while the bobbing man, the little man, the gallant man, and the cock-eyed man all stared at Frank and the sergeant in surprise.

“You seem to recognize the offender, sir,” said the officer who had arrested Frank.

“I recognize the gentleman, Brandon,” said the sergeant, putting particular emphasis on the word “gentleman.”

“He said he had been arrested before.”

“He was, on a trumped-up charge, and he was promptly dismissed by me.”

The officer looked still more disturbed.

“But this is no trumped-up charge,” he declared. “I have witnesses.”

“Where are they?”

“Here.”

He motioned toward the men, who had followed closely on entering the station, whereupon the little man drew himself up stiffly, as if he imagined he must be six feet tall, at least; the bobbing man bobbed in a reckless manner, as if he had quite lost control of himself; the gallant man lifted his hat and mopped the shiny spot on the top of his head with a silk handkerchief, attempting to appear perfectly at ease; and the cock-eyed man made a desperate attempt to look the sergeant straight in the eye, but came no nearer than the upper corner of the station window, which was several yards away to the left.

“And where is the lady who makes the charge?” demanded the man behind the desk.

Where, indeed! It was time for her to appear, but all looked for her in vain.

“She must be here directly,” said the sergeant, “if she is coming at all.”

“Oh, she is coming!” hastily answered the officer.

“She may be waiting outside, hesitating about coming in,” said the sergeant. “You may go out and bring her in, Brandon.”

The policeman hesitated an instant, as if he feared to leave Frank.

“It is all right,” asserted the sergeant. “I will guarantee that Mr. Merriwell is quite safe.”

Then Brandon hurried out.

“I believe you are going on the road with your play, Mr. Merriwell?” said the sergeant, in a most friendly and affable manner.

“I am,” answered Frank, “if I succeed in getting started.”

“How is that?”

“Well,” smiled Merry, “I was due to take a train in one hour and thirty minutes when I was accosted by the unknown woman whom it is said I insulted. I hardly think I shall be able to catch that train now.”

The sergeant looked at his watch.

“How much time have you now?” he asked.

Frank consulted his timepiece.

“Just forty-one minutes,” he said.

“Will you kindly tell me what occurred on the street?” invited the sergeant. “But wait—first I wish to know who witnessed this assault.”

There was some hesitation as the official behind the desk looked the assembled crowd over.

“Come,” he cried, sharply. “Who knows anything about this affair?”

“I do,” asserted the man with the cock-eye, summoning courage to step forward a bit. “And here are others.”

“Which ones?”

“Him, and him, and him,” answered the crooked-eyed man, jabbing a pudgy and none too clean forefinger at the gallant man, the little man, and the bobbing man, although he seemed to look at three entirely different persons from those he named.

The gallant man was perspiring, and looked as if he longed to escape. He also seemed anxious over the non-appearance of the veiled lady.

The bobbing man took a step backward, but somebody pushed him from behind, and he bobbed himself nearly double.

The little man tugged at his fluttering whiskers, looking to the right and left, as if thinking of dodging and attempting to escape in a hurry.

“And these are the witnesses?” said the sergeant, his eyes seeming to pierce them through and through. “Their testimony against you shall be carefully heard, Mr. Merriwell, and it will be well for them to be careful about giving it.”

“If I understand what is proper,” said the cock-eyed man, who seemed the only one who dared speak outright, “this is not the court, and you are not the judge.”

But he subsided before the piercing eyes of the sergeant, so that his final words were scarcely more than a gurgle in his throat.

“Now, Mr. Merriwell,” said the sergeant, “I will listen to your story. Officer at the door, take care that none of the witnesses depart until they are given permission.”

Frank told his story briefly, concisely, and convincingly. Barely had he finished when the officer who made the arrest came in, looking crestfallen and disgusted.

“Where is the lady, Brandon?” asked the sergeant.

“I can’t find her, sir,” confessed the policeman. “She is nowhere in the vicinity.”

“Then it seems you have been very careless in permitting her to slip away. Now there is no one to make a charge against the prisoner.”

“The witnesses—perhaps some of them will do so.”

The sergeant turned sharply on the little man, to whom he fired the question:

“Did you witness this assault on the unknown lady, sir?”

The little man jumped.

“No, sus-sus-sir,” he stammered; “but I——”

“That will do!” came sternly from the man behind the desk. “Step aside.”

The little man did so with alacrity, plainly relieved.

Then the sergeant came at the gallant man with the same question:

“Did you witness the assault on the lady, sir?”

“I was not present when it took place, but I——”

“That will do! Step aside.”

The gallant man closed up and stepped.

Next the bobbing man was questioned:

“Did you witness the assault on the lady, sir?”

“I arrived just after it was committed, but I can tell you——”

“Nothing! That will do! Step aside.”

The cock-eyed man folded his arms across his breast and glared fiercely at the window, which seemed to offend him.

“You are next.” said the sergeant. “What did you see?”

“I saw quite enough to convince me that the assault had been committed before I reached the spot, but——”

“Another ‘but.’ ‘But me no buts.’ There seems to be no one present who witnessed the assault, and so no one can prefer a charge against Mr. Merriwell. Mr. Merriwell, you have now exactly thirty minutes in which to catch your train. Don’t stop to say a word, but git up and git. You are at liberty.”

And Frank took the sergeant’s advice, followed closely by Ephraim.

CHAPTER XVIII.—AT THE LAST MOMENT.

Frank Merriwell’s company had gathered at the railway station to take the train for Puelbo. All but Merriwell and Gallup were on hand. Havener had purchased the tickets.

Hodge restlessly paced up and down the platform, his face dark and disturbed.

There were inquiries for Frank. Stella Stanley came to Havener and asked:

“Where is Mr. Merriwell?”

“I do not know,” confessed the stage manager, who had been deputized for the occasion by Frank to look out for tickets, and make necessary arrangements.

“He hasn’t come?”

“No; but he’ll be here before the train pulls out. You know he has a way of always appearing on time.”

Hodge stopped in his walk, and stared at Havener.

“I’d like to know when he left the hotel,” said Bart. “I called for him several times before coming here, but each time I found he was not in his room, and no one knew anything about him. His bill was not settled, either.”

“But his baggage came down with the others,” said Havener.

“Because the hotel people permitted it, as he was vouched for by Mr. Carson, who seems to be well known to everybody in this city.”

“You don’t suppose anything has happened to detain him, do you?” anxiously asked the actress. “I do hope we shall not make another bad start, same as we did before. Agnes Kirk says she knows something will happen, for Mr. Merriwell gave away the cat Mascot.”

“Agnes Kirk is forever prophesying something dismal,” said Hodge. “She’s a regular croaker. If she didn’t have something to croak about, she wouldn’t know what to do. She declared the cat a hoodoo in the first place, but now she says we’ll have bad luck because Frank let it go. She makes me a trifle weary!”

Hodge was not in a pleasant humor.

Granville Garland and Lester Vance came up.

“It’s almost train time,” said Garland. “Where is our energetic young manager?”

“He will be along,” Havener again asserted.

“I hope so,” said Vance. “I sincerely hope this second venture will not prove such a miserable fizzle as the first one. Everything depends on Frank Merriwell.”

“Something depends on you!” flashed Hodge, who seemed easily nettled. “Frank Merriwell’s company did all it could to make the first venture a fizzle. Now they should do all they can to make this one a success.”

“Hello, Thundercloud is lowering!” exclaimed Garland.

“Save your epithets!” exclaimed Bart. “My name is Hodge.”

“My dear Hodge,” said Garland, with mock politeness, “you must know it is but natural that we should feel a bit anxious.”

“I may feel as anxious as any of you, but I do not go round croaking about it.”

“But our first failure——”

“There it is again! I’m tired of hearing about that! You and Vance are dead lucky to be in this second company, for you both joined in the attempted assault on Merriwell when Folansbee skipped, and the company seemed to be stranded in Puelbo. If I’d been Frank Merriwell I’d sent you flying, and you can bet I would not have taken you back.”

“Then it’s fortunate for us that you were not Frank Merriwell,” Garland sneered.

“It is,” agreed Hodge. “Some people do not know when they are treated well.”

“That will do!” came sharply from Havener. “This is no time to quarrel. By Jove! it’s time for that train, and Merriwell’s not here.”

“Perhaps he’s backed out at the last minute and decided not to take the play out,” said Vance. “It may be that his courage has failed him.”

“Now that kind of talk makes me sick!” exploded Hodge. “If you had any sense you wouldn’t make it!”

“I like that!” snapped Vance, his face flushing.

“I’m glad you do!” flung back Bart. “Didn’t think you would. Hoped you wouldn’t. Only a fool would suppose that, after all this trouble and expense, any man with an ounce of brains in his head would back out without giving a single performance of the play.”

“Well, where is Merriwell?”

Again Havener declared:

“He’ll be here.”

“But here comes the train!”

The train was coming. There was activity and bustle at the station. The platform was alive with moving human beings. Agnes Kirk and Cassie Lee came out of the ladies’ waiting room. The male members of the company got together quickly.

“He has not come!” exclaimed Agnes Kirk, her keen eyes failing to discover Frank. “I feared it! I knew it!”

Hodge half turned away, grumbling something deep in his throat.

The actors looked at each other in doubt and dismay.

With a rush and a roar the train came in, and drew up at the station. Passengers began to get off.

A heavily veiled woman in black came out of the ladies’ room, and started for the train. As she passed the group of actors some of their conversation seemed to attract her notice. She paused an instant and looked them over, and then she turned toward the steps of a car.

“Excuse me, madam,” said Hodge, quickly. “You have dropped your handkerchief.”

He picked it up and passed it to her. As he did so, he noticed the letters “L. F.” on one corner.

“Thank you,” she said, in a low voice.

At that moment, for the last time, Havener was reiterating:

“I believe Frank Merriwell will be here. All get onto the train. He never gets left.”

Then the woman tossed her head a bit and laughed. It was a scornful laugh, and it attracted the attention of several of the group. She turned quickly, and stepped into the nearest car.

“Something tells me he will not arrive,” declared Agnes Kirk. “The hoodoo is still on. This company will meet the same fate the other did.”

“Don’t talk so much about it,” advised Havener, rather rudely. “Get onto the train—everybody!”

Hodge was staring after the veiled woman.

“Wonder what made her laugh like that?” he muttered. “Seems to me I’ve heard that laugh before. It seemed full of scornful triumph. I wonder——”

He did not express his second wonder.

“Come, Hodge,” said Havener, “get aboard. Follow the others.”

“I’ll be the last one,” said Hodge. “I’m waiting for Frank.

“I’m afraid,” confessed Havener, beginning to weaken.

“Afraid of what?” Hodge almost hissed.

“It begins to look bad,” admitted the stage manager. “I’m afraid something has happened to Frank. If he doesn’t come——”

“I don’t go,” declared Bart. “I shall stay and find out what has happened to him. You must go. You must sit on those croakers. Your place is with the company; mine is with Frank Merriwell.”

“All aboard!”

The conductor gave the warning.

“What’s this?”

Rattle-te-bang, on the dead jump, a cab was coming along the street. The cabman was putting the whip to his foaming horses.

“He’s coming,” said Hodge, with cool triumph, putting his hands into his trousers pockets, and waiting the approach of the cab.

Something made him feel certain of it. Up to the platform dashed the cab, the driver flinging the horses back, and flinging himself to the platform to fling open the door.

Dong dong!

The train was starting.

Out of the cab leaped Frank Merriwell, grip in hand. At his heels Ephraim Gallup came sprawling.

Bart was satisfied, Havener was delighted. Both of them sprang on board the train. Across the platform dashed Frank and the Vermont youth, and they also boarded the moving cars.

“Well,” laughed Merry, easily, “that was what I call a close call. Ten dollars to the cabby did it, and he earned his sawbuck.”

“I congratulate you!” cried Havener. “I confess I had given you up. But what happened to detain you?”

“Nothing but a little adventure,” answered Merry, coolly. “I’ll tell you about it.”

They followed him into the car.

Several members of the company had been looking from the car window, and the arrival of Frank had been witnessed. They gave a shout as he entered the car, and all were on their feet.

“Welcome!” cried Douglas Dunton, dramatically—“welcome, most noble one! Methinks thou couldst not do it better in a play. It was great stuff—flying cab, foaming horses, moving train, and all that. Make a note of it.”

“I believe he did it on purpose,” declared Agnes Kirk, speaking to Vance, with whom she had taken a seat.

“Very likely,” admitted Lester. “Wanted to do something to attract attention.”

“I think it was mean! He fooled us.”

But several members of the company shook hands with Frank, and congratulated him.

“I told you he would not get left,” said Havener, with triumph.

At the rear end of the car was a veiled woman, who seemed to sink down behind those in front of her, as if she sought to avoid detection. Somehow, although her face could not be seen, there was in her appearance something that betokened disappointment and chagrin.

Of course Frank was pressed for explanations, but he told them that business had detained him. He did not say what kind of business.

At length, however, with Hodge, Havener and Gallup for listeners, all seated on two facing seats, he told the story of his adventure with the veiled woman, and his arrest, which ended in a discharge that barely permitted him to leap into a cab, race to the hotel, get his grip, pay his bill, and dash to the station in time to catch the train.

As the story progressed Hodge showed signs of increasing excitement. When Merry finished, Bart exclaimed:

“How did the woman look?”

“I did not see her face.”

“How was she dressed? Describe her.”

“Don’t know as I can.”

“Do the best you can.”

Frank did so, and Bart cried:

“I’ve seen her!”

“What?”

Merry was astonished.

“I am sure of it,” asserted Bart. “I have seen that very same woman!”

“When?”

“To-day.”

“How long ago?”

“A very short time.”

“Where?”

“At the station while we were waiting for you to appear.”

“Is it possible. How do you know it was her?”

Then Bart told of the strange woman who had dropped her handkerchief, of the initials he had seen when he picked it up, and of her singularly scornful laugh when she heard Havener declare that Merriwell never got left.

All this interested Frank very much. Bart concluded by saying:

“That woman is on this very train!”

“Waal, may I be tickled to death by grasshoppers!” ejaculated the youth from Vermont. “Whut in thunder do yeou s’pose she’s up to?”

“It may be the same one,” said Frank. “It would be remarkable if it should prove to be the same one. Two women might look so much alike that the description of one would exactly fit the other—especially if both were heavily veiled.”

Bart shook his head.

“Something tells me it is the same woman,” he persisted.

“But why should she be on this train?”

“Who can answer that? Why did she try such a trick on the street?”

“Don’t know,” admitted Merry. “Once I thought it might be that she was mashed on me, but it didn’t prove that way.”

“Oh, I dunno,” drawled Gallup, with a queer grin. “Yeou turned her daown, an’ that made her sore. Ef she’d bin mashed on ye, perhaps she’d done jest as she did to git revenge fer bein’ turned daown.”

“No, something tells me this was more than a simple case of mash,” said Frank.

“What do you make of it?” asked Havener.

“An attempt to bother me.”

“For what?”

“Who knows? Haven’t I had enough troubles?”

“I should say so! But I thought your troubles of this sort were over when you got rid of Lawrence. You left two of the assistants who saw him try to fire the theater to appear as witnesses against him.”

“Oh, I hardly think Lawrence was in this affair in any way or manner. I confess I do not know just what to make of it. Heretofore my enemies have been men, but now there seems to be a woman in the case.”

“If this woman follows you, what will you do?”

“I shall endeavor to find out who she is, and bring her to time, so she will drop the game.”

“See that you do,” advised Hodge. “And don’t be soft with her because she is a woman.”

“Go look through the train and see if you can find the woman you saw,” directed Frank. “If you find her, come back here and tell me where she is.”

“I’ll do it!” exclaimed Bart, getting up at once.

“That fellow is faithful to you,” said Havener, when Bart had walked down the aisle; “but he is awfully disagreeable at times. It’s nothing but his loyalty that makes me take any stock in him.”

“His heart is in the right place,” asserted Merry.

“Nothing makes him doubt you. Why, I believe he wanted to fight the whole company when you failed to appear.”

“An’ he’s a fighter, b’gosh! when he gits started,” declared Gallup. “I’ve seen him plunk some critters an’ he plunked them in great style.”

Hodge was gone some little time, but there was a grim look of triumph when he returned.

“Find her?” asked Merry.

“Sure,” nodded Bart.

“Where?”

“Last car. She did not get onto this one, but I rather think she moved after you came on board. That makes me all the more certain that it is the woman. She’s near the rear end of the car, on the left side, as you go down the aisle.”

“Well,” said Frank, rising, “I think I’ll go take a look at her. Is she alone?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. And she cannot escape from the train till it stops, if it should happen to be the right woman, which I hope it is.”

Bart wished to accompany Frank to point the woman out, but Merry objected.

“No,” he said, “let me go alone.”

“I can show her to you.”

“If the woman I am looking for is in the car I’ll find her.”

Merry passed slowly through the train, scanning each passenger as he went along. He entered the last car. In a few moments he would know if the mysterious veiled woman really were on that train. If he found her, he would be certain the strange encounter on the street had a meaning that had not appeared on the surface.

The train was flying along swiftly, taking curves without seeming to slacken speed in the least. Frank’s progress through the car was rather slow, as the swaying motion made it difficult for him to get along.

But when he had reached the rear of the car he was filled with disappointment.

Not a sign of a veiled woman had he seen in the car.

More than that, there was no woman in black who resembled the woman who had stopped him on the street in Denver.

Could it be Hodge had been mistaken?

No! Something told him Bart had made no mistake in the matter of seeing a woman who answered the description given by Frank. He had said she was in the last car. She was not there when Frank passed through the car. Then she had moved.

Why?

Was the woman aware that she was being watched? Had she moved to escape observation?

Frank stopped by the door at the rear end of the car. He looked out through the glass in the door.

Some one was on the platform at one side of the door. Frank opened the door and looked out.

The person on the platform was a woman in black, and she wore a veil!

CHAPTER XIX.—ON THE REAR PLATFORM.

A feeling of exultant satisfaction flashed over Merriwell, and he quickly stepped out onto the platform, closing the door behind him.

The woman turned and looked toward him.

The train was racing along, the track seeming to fly away from beneath the last car.

It was a strange place for a woman to be, out there on the rear platform, and Merry’s first thought had been that it must be the woman he sought, for had she not come out there to escape him? She had fancied he would look through the car, fail to find her, and decide that she was not on the train. It must be that she had seen Hodge come in, and had realized at once why he had entered the car. When he departed to carry the information to Frank, the desperate woman had fled to the rear platform.

Immediately on stepping out onto the platform, however, Frank decided that his reasoning was at fault.

It was a veiled woman, and she was in black, but it was not the woman he sought. It was not the woman who had caused his arrest in Denver!

Merry was disappointed.

The unknown looked at him, and said nothing. He looked at her and wondered. The veil was thick and baffling.

“Madam,” he said, “this is a dangerous place.”

She said nothing.

“You are liable to become dizzy out here and meet with an accident,” he pursued. “If you should fall—well, you know what that would mean. It is remarkable that you should come out here.”

“The air,” she murmured, in a hoarse, husky voice. “The car was stifling, and I needed the air. I felt ill in there.”

“All the more reason why you should not come out here,” declared Frank, solicitously. “You could have had a window opened, and that would have given you air.”

“The window stuck.”

“It must be some of them would open. If you will return, I’ll endeavor to find you a seat by an open window.”

“Very kind of you,” she said, in the same peculiar, husky voice. “Think I’ll stay out here. Don’t mind me.”

“Then I trust you will permit me to remain, and see that you do not meet with any misfortune?”

“No. Go! Leave me! I had rather remain alone.”

She seemed like a middle-aged lady. He observed that her clothes fitted her ill, and her hands were large and awkward. She attempted to hide them.

All at once, with a suddenness that staggered him, the truth burst on Frank.

The woman was no woman at all! It was a man in disguise!

Merry literally gasped for a single instant, but he recovered at once.

Through his head flashed a thought:

“This must be some criminal who is seeking to escape justice!”

Immediately Frank resolved to remain on the platform at any hazard. He would talk to the disguised unknown.

“The motion of the train is rather trying to one who is not accustomed to it,” he said. “Some people feel it quite as much as if they were on a vessel. Car sickness and seasickness are practically the same thing.”

She looked at him through the concealing veil, but did not speak.

“I have traveled considerable,” he pursued, “but, fortunately, I have been troubled very little with sickness, either on sea or land.”

“Will you be kind enough to leave me!” came from behind the veil, in accents of mingled imploration and anger.

“I could not think of such a thing, madam!” he bowed, as gallantly as possible. “It is my duty to remain and see that you come to no harm.”

“I shall come to no harm. You are altogether too kind! Your kindness is offensive!”

“I am very sorry you regard it thus, but I know my duty.”

“If you knew half as much as you think, you would go.”

“I beg your pardon; it is because I do know as much as I think that I do not go.”

The unknown was losing patience.

“Go!” he commanded, and now his voice was masculine enough to betray him, if Frank had not dropped to the trick before.

“No,” smiled Merry, really beginning to enjoy it, “not till you go in yourself, madam.”

The train lurched round a curve, causing the disguised unknown to swing against the iron gate. Frank sprang forward, as if to catch and save the person from going over, but his real object was to apparently make a mistake and snatch off the veil.

The man seemed to understand all this, for he warded off Frank’s clutch, crying:

“I shall call for aid! I shall seek protection!”

“It would not be the first time to-day that a veiled woman has done such a thing,” laughed Frank.

The disguised man stared at him again. Merry fairly itched to snatch away the veil.

“If you are seeking air, madam,” he suggested, “you had better remove your veil. It must be very smothering, for it seems to be quite thick.”

“You are far too anxious about me!” snapped the disguised man. “I would advise you to mind your own business!”

This amused Merry still more. The situation was remarkably agreeable to him.

“In some instances,” he said, politely, “your advice would be worth taking, but an insane person should be carefully watched, and that is why I am minding your business just now.”

“An insane person?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you mean that I am insane?”

“Well, I trust you will excuse me, but from your appearance and your remarkable behavior, it seems to me that you should be closely guarded.”

That seemed to make the unknown still more angry, but it was plain he found difficulty in commanding words to express himself.

“You’re a fool!” he finally snapped.

“Thank you!” smiled Frank.

“You’re an idiot!”

“Thank you again.”

“You are the one who is crazy!”

“Still more thanks.”

“How have I acted to make you fancy me demented?”

“You are out here, and you may be contemplating self-destruction by throwing yourself from this train.”

“Don’t worry about that. I am contemplating nothing of the sort.”

“But there are other evidences of your insanity.”

“Oh, there are?”

“Yes.”

As the disguised unknown did not speak, Merry went on:

“The strongest evidence of your unbalanced state of mind is the ill-chosen attire you are wearing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you not dressed in the garments of your sex?”

“Sir?”

“You are not a woman,” declared Frank, coolly; “but a man in the garments of a woman. Your disguise is altogether too thin. It would not deceive anybody who looked you over closely. You are——”

Frank got no further. With a cry of anger, the disguised unknown sprang at him, grappled with him, panted in his ear:

“You are altogether too sharp, Frank Merriwell! This time you have overshot yourself! This ends you!”

Then he tried to fling Merry from the swiftly moving train.

Frank instantly realized that it was to be a struggle for life, and he met the assault as quickly and stiffly as he could; but the disguised man seemed, of a truth, to have the strength of an insane person. In his quick move, the fellow had forced Frank back against the gate, and over this, he tried to lift and hurl him.

“No you don’t!” came from Merry’s lips.

“Curse you!” panted the fellow. “I will do it!”

“Yes, you will—I don’t think!”

In the desperate struggle, both seemed to hang over the gate for a moment. Then Frank slid back, securing a firm grip, and felt safe.

Just then, however, the door of the car flew open, and out sprang Hodge. Bart saw what was happening in a moment, and he leaped to Merry’s aid.

Out on a high trestle that spanned a roaring, torrent-like river rumbled the train.

Bart clutched Frank, gave the disguised man a shove, and——

Just how it happened, neither of them could tell afterward, but over the gate whirled the man, and down toward the seething torrent he shot!

Up from that falling figure came a wild cry of horror that was heard above the fumbling roar of the train on the trestle bridge.

Over and over the figure turned, the skirts fluttering, and then headlong it plunged into the white foam of the torrent, disappearing from view.

On the rear platform of the last car two white-faced, horrified young men had watched the terrible fall. They stared down at the swirling river, looking for the unfortunate wretch to reappear. Off the bridge flew the train, and no longer were they able to see the river.

“He’s gone!” came hoarsely from Bart.

“Then you saw—you knew it was a man?” cried Frank.

“Yes, I saw his trousers beneath the skirts as I came out the door.”

“This is terrible!” muttered Frank.

“He was trying to throw you over?”

“Yes; attempted to take me off my guard and hurl me from the train.”

“Then the wretch has met a just fate,” declared Bart.

But now it seemed that the struggle on the platform had been noticed by some one within the car. There were excited faces at the glass in the door, and a trainman came out, demanding:

“What is all this? Why are you out here? They tell me a woman came out. Where is she?”

With unusual readiness, Bart quickly answered:

“She’s gone—jumped from the train.”

“Jumped?”

“Yes. We both tried to save her. Just as I reached the door I saw my friend struggling to hold her, but she was determined to fling herself over.”

“Well, this is a fine piece of business!” came angrily from the trainman. “What ailed her?”

“She must have been insane,” asserted Bart. “She attacked my friend here, and then tried to jump off. He could not hold her. I did not get hold of her in time.”

“What was he doing out here?”

“Watching her. You will admit it was rather queer for a woman to come out here on the platform and stand. He thought so, and so he came out to watch her.”

“Well, you can both come in off this platform!” growled the trainman, in anything but a civil manner.

They did so. The passengers swarmed round them when they entered the car, literally flinging questions at them.

“Who was the woman?”

“What ailed her?”

“Why did she go out there?”

“What did she do?”

“Tell us about it!”

Again Bart made the explanation, and then there arose a babel.

“I noticed her,” declared one. “I saw she looked queer.”

“I noticed her,” asserted another. “I saw she acted queer.”

“I saw her when she went out,” put in a third, “and I thought it was a crazy thing to do.”

“Without doubt the woman was insane,” declared a pompous fat man.

“She must have been instantly killed.”

“She jumped into the river.”

“Then, she was drowned.”

“Who knows her?”

“She was all alone.”

Frank had been thinking swiftly all the while. He regretted that Bart had been so hasty in making his explanation, and now he resolved to tell as near the truth as possible without contradicting Hodge.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” he said, “I have every reason for believing that the person was a man.”

Then there were cries of astonishment and incredulity.

“A man?”

“Impossible!”

“Never!”

“Ridiculous!”

But an elderly lady, who wore gold-bowed spectacles, calmly said:

“The young gentleman is correct, I am quite sure. The person in question sat directly in front of me, and I discovered there was something wrong. I felt almost certain it was a man before he got up and went out on the platform.”

Then there was excitement in the car. A perfect torrent of questions was poured on Frank.

Merry explained that he had thought it rather remarkable that a woman should be standing all alone on the rear platform, and, after going out and speaking to the person, he became convinced that it was a man in disguise. Then he told how the man, on being accused, had attacked him furiously, and finally had seemed to fling himself over the iron gate.

It was a great sensation, but no one accused either Merry or Bart of throwing the unknown over, not a little to Frank’s relief.

At last, they got away and went forward into the car where the company was gathered. Havener and Gallup had been holding the double seat, and Frank and Bart sat down there.

“Well, I fancy you failed to find the lady you were looking for,” said Havener. “But what’s the matter? You look as if something has happened.”

“Something has,” said Frank, grimly.

“Gol-darned ef I don’t b’lieve it!” exclaimed Ephraim. “Both yeou an’ Hodge show it. Tell us abaout it.”

Frank did so in a very few words, astonishing both Ephraim and the stage manager.

“Waal,” said the Vermonter, “the gal who tackled yeou in Denver warn’t no man.”

“Not much,” said Frank, “and it is remarkable that Hodge should have mistaken a man for such a woman as I described.”

“Didn’t,” said Bart.

“But you have acknowledged that you believed this was a man.”

“Yes, but this man was not the veiled woman I saw.”

“Wasn’t?”

“Not much!”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Frank. “The mystery deepens!”

“Did you mistake this person for the veiled woman I meant?”

“Sure thing.”

“And did not find another?”

“Not a sign of one. I do not believe there is another on the train.”

“Well, this is a mystery!” confessed Hodge. “I saw nothing of the one I meant when I went to look for you.”

“It must be you saw no one but that man in the first place.”

Bart shook his head, flushing somewhat.

“Do you think I would take that man for a woman with a perfect figure, such as you described? What in the world do you fancy is the matter with my eyes?”

“By gum!” drawled Gallup. “This air business is gittin’ too thick fer me. I don’t like so much mystery a bit.”

“If that man was not the one you meant, Hodge,” said Merry, “then the mysterious woman is still on this train.”

“That’s so,” nodded Bart.

“Find her,” urged Frank. “I want to get my eyes on her more than ever. Surely you should be able to find her.”

“I’ll do it!” cried Bart, jumping up.

Away he went.

Frank remained with Havener and Gallup, talking over the exciting and thrilling adventure and the mystery of it all till Hodge returned. At a glance Merry saw that his college friend had not been successful.

“Well,” he said, “did you find her?”

“No,” confessed Bart, looking crestfallen. “I went through the entire train, and I looked every passenger over. The woman I meant is not on this train.”

“Then, it must be that your woman was the man who met his death in the river. There is no other explanation of her disappearance. You must give up now, Hodge.”

But Hodge would not give up, although he could offer no explanation, and the mystery remained unsolved.

There were numerous stops between Denver and Puelbo, and it was nightfall before the train brought them to their destination. The sun had dropped behind the distant Rockies, and the soft shades of a perfect spring evening were gathering when they drew up at the station in Puelbo.

Lights were beginning to twinkle in windows, and the streets were lighted. “Props” had gone to look after the baggage, and the company was gathered on the platform. Cabmen were seeking to attract fares.

Of a sudden, a cry broke from the lips of Bart Hodge:

“There she is!”

All were startled by his sudden cry. They saw him start from the others, pointing toward a woman who was speaking to a cabman. That woman had left the train and crossed the platform, and she was dressed in black and heavily veiled.

Frank saw her—recognized her.

“By heavens! it is the woman,” he exclaimed.

CHAPTER XX.—MAN OR WOMAN.

Into the cab sprang the woman. Slam! the door closed behind her. Crack!—the whip of the driver fell on the horses, and away went the cab.

“Stop!” shouted Hodge.

Cabby did not heed the command.

Frank made a rush for another cab.

“Follow!” he cried, pointing toward the disappearing vehicle. “I will give you five dollars—ten dollars—if you do not lose sight of that cab!”

“In!” shouted the driver. “I’ll earn that ten!”

In Frank plunged, jerking the door to behind him. The cab whirled from the platform with a jerk. Away it flew.

“It will be worth twenty dollars to get a peep beneath that veil!” muttered Frank Merriwell.

The windows were open. He looked out on one side. He could see nothing of the cab they were pursuing. Back he dodged, and out he popped his head on the other side.

“There it is!”

He felt that he was not mistaken. The fugitive cab was turning a corner at that moment. They were after it closely.

Frank wondered where the woman could have been hidden on the train so that she had escaped observation. He decided that she must have been in one of the toilet rooms.

But what about the veiled man who was disguised as a woman? That man had known Frank—had spoken his name.

It was a double mystery.

The pursuit of the cab continued some distance. At last the cab in advance drew up in front of a hotel, and a man got out!

Merriwell had leaped to the ground, and cabby was down quite as swiftly, saying:

“There, sir, I followed ’em. Ten plunks, please.”

The door of the other cab had been closed, and the man was paying the driver. He wore no overcoat, and carried no baggage.

“Fooled!” exclaimed Frank, in disappointment. “You have followed the wrong cab, driver!”

“I followed the one you told me to follow,” declared the driver.

“No; you made a mistake.”

“Now, don’t try that game on me!” growled the man. “It’s your way of attempting to get out of paying the tenner you promised.”

“No; I shall pay you, for you did the best you could. It was not your fault that you made a mistake in the mass of carriages at the depot.”

“Didn’t make no mistake,” asserted the cabby, sullenly.

“Well, it’s useless to argue over it,” said Merry, as he gave the man the promised ten dollars. “I am sure you made a mistake.“

“Think I couldn’t follow Bill Dover and his spotted nigh hawse?” exploded the driver. “I couldn’t have missed that hawse if I’d tried.”

Frank saw one of the horses attached to the other cab was spotted. He had noticed that peculiarity about one of the horses attached to the cab the mysterious woman had entered.

“It’s the same horse!” exclaimed Merry.

“’Course it is,” nodded the driver.

The man had paid his fare and was carelessly sauntering into the hotel. As he disappeared through the door-way, Frank sprang to the door of the other cab, flung it wide open, and looked in, more than half expecting to discover the woman still inside.

No woman was there!

Frank caught his breath in astonishment, and stood there, staring into the empty cab.

“Hi, there! wot cher doin’?” called the man on the box.

Frank did not answer. He reached into the cab and felt on the floor. He found something, brought it forth, looked at it amazed.

It was a woman’s dress!

But where was the woman?

Garment after garment Frank lifted, discovering that all a woman’s outer wearing apparel lay on the floor of that cab.

“Vanished!” he muttered. “Disappeared—gone? What does it mean?”

Then he thought of the man who had left the cab and entered the hotel, and he almost reeled.

“That was the woman!”

He had seen one woman change into a man on the train, and here was another and no less startling metamorphosis.

“Driver,” he cried, “didn’t you take a person on in woman’s clothes at the station and let one off in man’s clothes just now?”

“None of yer business!” came the coarse reply. “I knows enough not ter answer questions when I’m paid ter keep still.”

That was quite enough; the driver might as well have answered, for he had satisfied Merriwell.

Frank was astonished by the remarkable change that the woman had made while within the cab, but now he believed he understood why she had not been detected while on the train. She had been able to make a change of disguises in the toilet room, and had passed herself off as a man. Hodge had looked for a veiled woman, and he had looked for a veiled woman; it was not strange that both of them had failed to notice a person in masculine attire who must have looked like a woman.

Up the hotel steps Frank leaped. He entered the office, he searched and inquired. At last, he found out that a beardless man had entered by the front door, but had simply passed through and left by a side door.

“Given me the slip,” decided Frank. He realized that he had encountered a remarkably clever woman.

And the mystery was deeper than ever.

Frank went to the hotel at which the company was to stop, and found all save Wynne had arrived. Hodge was on the watch for Merry, and eagerly inquired concerning his success in following the woman. Frank explained how he had been tricked.

“Well, it’s plain this unknown female is mighty slippery,” said Bart. “You have not seen the last of her.”

“I am afraid there are some things about this double mystery which will never be solved,” admitted Frank. “For instance, the identity of the man who fell into the river.”

“We’ll be dead lucky if we do not have trouble over that affair,” said Hodge.

“How do you mean?”

“Some fool is liable to swear out a warrant charging us with throwing the unknown overboard.”

“I thought of that,” nodded Frank, “and that is why I took occasion on the train to straighten out your story somewhat. It is always best, Bart, to stick to the straight truth.”

Hodge flushed and looked resentful, but plainly sought to repress his feelings, as he said:

“I am not the only person in the world who believes the truth should not be spoken at all times.”

“If one cannot speak the truth,” said Merry, quietly, “he had better remain silent and say nothing at all, particularly in a case like this. There is an old saying that ‘the truth can afford to travel slowly, but a lie must be on the jump all the time, or it will get caught.’”

“Well, I don’t think this is any time to moralize,” came a bit sharply from Bart. “If we were to go into an argument, I rather think I could show logically that a white lie is sometimes more commendable than the truth.”

“In shielding another, possibly,” admitted Merry; “but never in shielding the one who tells it. The more a person lies, the more he has to lie, for it becomes necessary to tell one falsehood to cover up another, and, after a while, the unfortunate individual finds himself so ensnared in a network of fabrications that it is impossible for him to clear himself. Then disaster comes.”

“Oh, don’t preach!” snapped Bart. “Let’s go to your room and talk this matter of the veiled woman over. There is trouble brewing for you, and you must be prepared to meet it. Havener has registered for the company, and all you have to do is call for your key.”

So Frank and Bart went to the room of the former.

Puelbo had been well “papered.” The work was done thoroughly, and every board, every dead wall, and every available window flaunted the paper of “True Blue.”

The failure of “For Old Eli” was still fresh in the minds of the people of the city, but neither had they forgotten Frank Merriwell’s plucky promise to bring the play back to that place and perform it successfully there.

The newspapers of the place had given him their support, but Frank was determined that extracts from the notices in the Denver papers should reach the eyes of those who did not read the Puelbo papers closely. With this end in view, he had the extracts printed on flyers, as small bills are called, and the flyers were headed in startling type:

“Five Hundred Dollars Fine!”

To this he added:

It is needless to say that nearly every one who could read was careful to read the clippings through to the end.

This manner of attracting attention was effective, even though it may seem rather boyish in its conception.

His printing was done on the very night that he arrived in Puelbo, and the flyers were scattered broadcast the following day.

He obtained the names of a large number of prominent citizens, to whom he sent complimentary tickets, good for the first night’s performance.

Frank was determined to have a house, even if it was made up principally of deadheads.

On the occasion of his former visit to Puelbo he had received some free advertising through Leslie Lawrence, who had circulated printed accusations against him. He scarcely expected anything of the sort on this occasion, and he was rather startled when, on the morning following his arrival, he discovered that a circular had been scattered broadcast, which seemed to be even more malicious than the former attempt upon him.

In this circular he was plainly charged with the murder of an unknown woman shortly after leaving Denver, and it was said he had been aided in the crime by Bartley Hodge.

Frank was calmly reading this bold accusation when Hodge came bursting into the room in a manner that reminded Merry of his entrance under similar circumstances on the former occasion.

Seeing the paper in Merry’s hand, Bart hoarsely cried:

“So you’ve got it! Then you know about it! Well, now, sir, what do you think of that?”

“Sit down, Hodge,” said Frank, calmly. “You seem all out of breath. You are excited.”

“Excited!” shouted the dark-faced youth. “Well, isn’t that enough to excite a man of stone!”

“Do you mean this?”

“Yes, that! What in the name of creation do you suppose I meant?”

“I wasn’t certain.”

“Wasn’t cert—— Oh, say; that’s too much! What do you think? What are you made of, anyway?”

“Now, my dear fellow, you must stop going on like this. You’ll bring on heart disease if you keep it up.”

Hodge dropped down on a chair and stared at Merry.

“Well—I’ll—be—blowed!” he gasped.

“You are nearly blowed now,” said Frank. “You seem quite out of breath.”

“Is it possible you have read that paper you hold in your hand?” asked Bart, with forced calmness.

“Yes, I have read it.”

“Well, I do not understand you yet! I thought I did, but I’m willing to confess that I don’t.”

Then he jumped up, almost shouting:

“Why, man alive, don’t you understand that we are charged with murder—with murder?”

“Yes,” said Frank, still unruffled, “it seems so by this.”

“And you take it like that!”

“What is the use to take it differently?”

“Use? Use? Sometimes I think you haven’t a drop of good, hot blood in your body.”

“If a person has plenty of good, hot blood, it is a good thing for him to cool it off with good, cool brains. Hot blood is all right, but it should be controlled; it should not control the man.”

“I don’t see how you can talk that way, under such circumstances. Why, we may be arrested for murder any moment!”

“We shall not.”

“Shall not?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because our unknown enemy does not dare come out into the open and make the charge against us.”

“What makes you think so?”

“This.”

Frank held up the accusing paper.

“That?”

“Yes.”

“Why should that make you think so?”

“If our enemy had intended to come out and make the charge against us openly, this would not have appeared. It is simply an attempt to hurt us from under cover, or to arouse others against us—against me, in particular.”

Bart could see there was logic in Merry’s reasoning, but still he was fearful of what might happen.

“Well, even you must acknowledge that the unknown enemy may succeed in his purpose,” said Hodge. “There were a number of persons who saw something of the struggle on the train. This may arouse some of them, or one of them, at least, to do something.”

“It may.”

“You confess that?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

“I don’t believe it will. Hodge, I have a fancy that, in this case, same as in the other, my enemy will overshoot the mark.”

“How?”

“Something tells me that this warning, intended to turn suspicion against me, will serve as an advertisement. Of course, it will be a most unpleasant notoriety to have, but it may serve to bring people out to see me.”

Bart looked thoughtful.

“I never thought of that,” he confessed, hesitatingly.

“I had far rather not had the notoriety,” admitted Frank; “but that can’t be helped now. Let the people turn out to see ‘True Blue.’ Perhaps I’ll get a chance at my enemy later.”

“The veiled woman——”

“Is in it, I fancy. I believe there was some connection between the veiled woman and the veiled man—the one who plunged from the train into the river.”

“I have thought of that, but I’ve been unable to figure out what the connection could be. Why was the man veiled and disguised thus?”

“So that I would not recognize him.”

“Then, it must be that you would know him if you saw him face to face.”

“As he knew me. He called me by name as he sprang upon me.”

“Well, he’s done for, but I believe the woman will prove the most dangerous. Something tells me she was the real mover in this business.”

“I fancy you are right, Hodge. At first, in Denver, I thought she had been piqued by the manner in which I replied to her, but since all these strange things have happened, I know it was more than a case of pique.”

“When you make a woman your enemy, she is far more dangerous than a man, for women are more reckless—less fearful of consequences.”

“That’s right,” nodded Frank. “Women know they will not be punished to the full extent of the law, no matter what they do. Juries are easily hypnotized by pretty women. Where a woman and a man are connected in committing a crime, and the woman is shown to be the prime mover, a jury will let the woman off as easily as possible. A jury always hesitates about condemning a woman to death, no matter if she has committed a most fiendish murder. In the East, women adventuresses ply their nefarious arts and work upon the sympathies of the juries so that, when called to the bar, they are almost always acquitted. It is remarkable that men should be so soft. It is not gallantry; it is softness. The very man who would cry the loudest if he had been hit by an adventuress is the most eager to acquit the woman in case he happens to be on the jury to pronounce the verdict in her case.”

“Well,” said Hodge, “you are sound and level in that statement, Frank. It’s plain you do not think true chivalry consists of acquitting female blackmailers and assassins.”

“Don’t let this little attempt to injure us frighten you, Hodge,” advised Frank, rising. “I think it will miscarry entirely. We’ve got plenty of work for to-day, and to-night I believe I shall be able to tell beyond a doubt whether ‘True Blue’ is a success or a failure. I think the test will come right here in Puelbo, where we met disaster before.”