Neither man nor boy moved a muscle. In dead silence they remained thus, watching each other like panthers about to spring.
The fire glowed warmly on the hearth and a great clock that stood in one corner of the room ticked solemnly and regularly. Outside the wind rose in a great gust and swept with rushing sound through the branches of the trees. Ghostly hands, like those of restless spirits seeking admission from the darkness and the cold, rapped at the casement of a window.
Still the unknown man and the American lad sat motionless, gazing into each other’s eyes.
The unvaried ticking of the great clock began to sound loud as hammer strokes.
Gradually Dick realized that he was obtaining the mastery. He had met and resisted the unknown influence the other was bringing to bear upon him, and his determination was conquering the subtle power of those magnetic eyes.
He called into action all the force of will he could command, knowing that he was defeating the object of the silent man before the fire.
Finally the man uttered a low exclamation of disappointment and anger, and the newspaper fell rustlingly from his face.
Dick sat face to face with Miguel Bunol!
“Curses on you!” hissed the Spanish youth. “Had you not looked up so soon I would have succeeded.”
“Never!” retorted Dick. “It is not in you, Bunol, to conquer a Merriwell.”