Clancy was red in the face with suppressed mirth. Merry, leaning against the window casing, was enjoying the situation to the utmost.
“Now for some fun,” murmured Clancy, “when they turn the box over and find there’s no one inside.”
“This is pretty rich, and no mistake,” chuckled Merry. “They’re all going to lay hold of the box and lift it. They——”
The words died on his lips. Just then something happened which caused a chilly feeling to race along his spine, and Clancy’s rapture vanished on the instant.
Before a hand could be laid on the box, it began to lift—apparently of its own accord. Fritz, Silva, and Woo Sing stepped back. They, of course, were in no wise startled for they were expecting to find some one under the big packing case. But Merry and Clancy could only gasp and stare downward with wide eyes.
The box, by a force exerted from within, was tilted backward. A young fellow showed himself, unkempt and his clothes in disorder from several hours in such cramped quarters.
He was not a tramp, that was evident. His clothing was of excellent quality and fitted him well. Surprise followed surprise for Merry, for he presently noticed that the youth’s hair was as black as a raven’s wing, his eyes a faded blue, and his skin a waxlike and unhealthy white!
Merriwell, astounded beyond words, leaned against the side of the window and continued to peer blankly outward and downward at the odd group in the rear of the hotel.
The man who had been under the box had his coat over his arm and his sleeves rolled to the elbow. With a snarling, angry cry he leaped past the Mexican, the Dutchman and the Chinaman, and sprinted at a tremendous clip to get out of the way.
“Catch that fellow!” cried Merriwell, finally waking up. “Come on, Clan!”