"All right," nodded Roll. "Sorry you won't come out, old fel. You'll get grouchy. Good-night."
"Good-night."
Ditson went out, and Frank heard him descending the stairs.
"There'll be music in the air," muttered Merriwell as he again lay back in his chair, elevating his feet to the top of the table. "But the surprisers are liable to be surprised."
He heard the front door creak. Often he wondered why Mrs. Harrington did not grease the hinges.
Frank had good ears, and it was not long before he was sure he could hear rustlings and whisperings in the hall. Then one person seemed to ascend the stairs very slowly, but he made out that there were two or three others with that one, the others stepping as softly as possible.
Merriwell remained cool and apparently quite unaware that anything unusual was taking place.
The footsteps reached the head of the stairs and advanced to the door, on which there was a distinct knock.
"Come in!" Frank once more called.
The door was promptly flung open, and into the room strode a person who was wrapped in a big overcoat and wore a wide-brimmed hat slouched over his eyes. His face nearly to his eyes was covered with bushy whiskers.