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Frank Merriwell's Chums, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 28. The Marks On The Black Stone |
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_ CHAPTER XXVIII. THE MARKS ON THE BLACK STONE Frank fancied he heard pursuing footsteps behind him, but the mysterious man might have spared himself the effort if he tried to overtake the lad, for Merriwell almost flew over the ground. The lights from the windows of the barracks soon appeared through the trees, and Frank felt relieved when he was safely within the grounds with the academy buildings looming before him. A short time later he entered his own room in the "Cock-loft," to find Bartley Hodge sitting with his feet on the table, smoking a cigarette and perusing an exciting detective story; but the feet went down to the floor like a flash, and the cigarette and book disappeared with magical swiftness as Frank came in. "Oh!" said Hodge, with a sigh of relief; "it's you, is it, Merriwell? I thought it might be an inspector." Frank laughed. "It would have been rather bad for you if I had been an inspector, for you did not get that book and cigarette out of sight quick enough to fool anybody, and the air is full of smoke. You would have stood a good chance for chevrons next month if you had let cigarettes and novels alone and taken a little more care to avoid demerit." "Never mind, old man," said Hodge, as he resumed the cigarette and brought forth the detective story again. "You'll be a corporal sure, and that is glory enough for us. Don't preach. If you should start in on this yarn, you wouldn't give it up till you finished it." "And that is exactly why I am not going to start in. I enjoy a good story as well as you do, but I cannot afford to read novels, now, and so I refuse to be tempted into looking into any of them." "This is a hummer," declared Bart, enthusiastically. "It is full of mystery and murder and all that. Beagle Ben, the detective, is a corker! That fellow can look a man over and tell what he had for dinner by the expression around the corners of his mouth. He sees through a crook as easily as you can look through a plate-glass window. And the mysteries in this story are enough to give a fellow the nightmare. I wonder why such mysterious things never happen in real life?" "Perhaps they do occasionally." The way Frank spoke the words caused Bart to turn and look him over wonderingly. "Hello!" he said. "What's struck you? You are breathing as if you had been running, but you're rather pale round the gills." "I have had an adventure." "You are always having adventures. You're the luckiest fellow alive." "This adventure is somewhat out of the usual order," declared Frank. "It might furnish material for a detective story." "Whew!" whistled the dark-haired lad. "Now you are making me curious. Reel it off for us." Then Frank sat down and told Hodge the full particulars of his adventure with the mysterious man in black. A look of wonder and delight grew on Bart's face as he listened, and, when the account was finished, he slapped his thigh, crying: "By Jove, Merriwell, this is great! Why, such things do actually happen, don't they! Why do you suppose that man is so determined to obtain possession of that ugly old ring? Do you actually believe he is a collector of rings, with a mania for the quaint and curious?" "It is possible, but, for some reason, I doubt it." "So do I." "He did not seem quite sincere in his manner of telling that story, and he was altogether too desperate in his determination to obtain the ring." "That's right." "Besides that, he wished to know how it came into my possession, and, when he learned my father's name, he declared he had never heard it before." "What do you make out of that?" "Well, it strikes me that this man recognized the ring as one he had seen before." Bart nodded with satisfaction. "Just the way I figured it out, old man!" "He did not seem so anxious to learn the history of the ring, although he pretended that it was his wish to know the history of every ring that came into his possession. In this case he seemed far more anxious to discover how I came to have it." "And so he must already know its history?" "Yes." "What do you know about it yourself, Frank?" "Not much," was the serious reply. "You know I once told you that my father was much away from home, traveling in the West, where he claimed to have business interests, and it was not till after his death that we knew what his business actually was--that of a note broker--with a passion for gambling?" "Yes, I remember all this." "In his wanderings, father somehow got hold of that ring, and it is pretty certain that he considered it very valuable, for he sent it to mother, and wrote her to guard it faithfully, and not to let it part from her on any consideration. He said that he would come for it some day; but he never did. When mother died, she gave me the ring, telling me to keep it always. That is as much of the ring's history as is known to me." "And that is just enough to make the thing a decided mystery. I have heard of magic rings used by East Indian fakirs and magicians. Perhaps this is one of those rings." Frank smiled a bit, and shook his head. "Hardly that, I think," he said. "From its appearance, I should say this ring was made by some crude workman in the West." "In, that case, what can there be about it that is mysterious or valuable?" "You have asked me something I cannot answer." "Let's look at the thing." Bart held out his hand, and Frank removed the ring from his finger, handing it over. "It slips off altogether too easily," said Hodge. "I should think you would fear losing it." "It does come off easy, and, for that reason, I have not worn it much till of late." "Yes; I never noticed it on your hand till a short time ago." "I have kept it among my valuables." Hodge looked the ring all over, examining it slowly and carefully. "There doesn't seem to be anything about it to make a fellow think it so very mysterious," he said, with a shade of disappointment in his voice. "No." "It is just a homely, twisted ring, with an old scratched black stone set in it." "That's right." "Perhaps the man in black is crazy." "It is possible." "In which case the mystery amounts to nothing." For a few seconds the two lads sat staring at each other. Then Frank removed a pin from some hidden place, and held it toward Bart. "Here," he said, "take this and see how easily you can scratch that stone." Hodge took it, and attempted to scratch the black stone that was set in the ring. "Why, the thing is hard as flint--yes, harder!" he exclaimed. "The pin will not leave a mark upon it, and it has already turned the point of the pin over." "Still, as you said, the stone is scratched." "What do you make of that?" "It strikes me it was not scratched by accident." Hodge started and whistled. "Do you imagine these marks were made here intentionally and deliberately?" "Doesn't it seem that way?" "Well, it is not impossible." "If they were made there deliberately and intentionally, cut by some instrument that could mark that hard stone, doesn't it stand to reason that the one who made them did not do all that work for nothing?" "Of course." "Then those marks may mean something." "By jingoes! you are right!" "This may be known to the man in black, which makes him so fierce to obtain the ring." "Sure!" Again the boys stared silently at each other, but there were traces of eager excitement on the faces of both. "How are you going to find out what those marks mean, Frank?" "That is a question easier asked than answered." "Did you ever examine this stone under a microscope?" "No." "Then I advise you to do so without delay. These scratches are not very plain to the naked eye, but a microscope may reveal a great secret to you." As Bart passed the ring back, Frank said: "You are right. My curiosity is thoroughly aroused, and I will examine it under a magnifying glass at the earliest opportunity." "Get leave to look at it under the big glass in the experimenting room." "I will try it to-morrow." Until very near taps the boys talked of the mystery of the ring, and that night both of them dreamed over and over of the ring and the sinister man in black. _ |
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