“I must be getting ‘dippy’ over this Lenning business,” he reflected. “I’m making mysteries where there are only commonplace, every-night events. Probably I’ll find Lenning sitting in a chair in front of the laboratory, guarding the bullion as comfortably as possible.”
He moved on to the side of the laboratory with considerable confidence. At one of the dark windows he halted and peered into the interior of the structure. A quick breath escaped his lips.
What he saw, in the black gloom of the laboratory, was a long, quivering shaft of light. It crossed the big room, coming from a mass of shadow and trembling over some object whose nature Frank was not able to determine. But a thrill of apprehension ran through him.
Surely that penciled gleam was from a bull’s-eye lantern! An honest watchman never made use of such a light—or, at least, no watchman whose duty kept him around a lot of big cyanide tanks!
With this for a starting point, Frank’s thoughts took a dizzy and horrifying leap into a tangle of conjectures. Perhaps Lenning was working at the safe! It might be that he had asked for that job at the mine with the sole idea of getting a chance at the bullion! And it was Frank who had recommended the fellow to Mr. Bradlaugh!
A sick feeling ran through the lad as he stood leaning against the wall and looking into the laboratory. Then, against these forbidding fancies, he marshaled all that Lenning had said to him that afternoon—how he was going to do the square thing, and that Merry would never have cause to regret befriending him.
It did not seem possible that——
Frank’s reflections were suddenly interrupted. Above the mutterings of the stamps, his keen ear caught a crunch of sand behind him. Alarmed, he started to whirl around; but, before he could turn, he was caught by the shoulders and thrown violently sideways. As he fell, his head crashed against the stone sill of the window, and he remembered nothing more. Blank darkness rolled over him, suddenly and completely.