“You pet mine poots we know dot,” nodded Hans.
“Begorra, you’re th’ roight stuff, Frankie, an’ Oi’m riddy to foight wid yer bist frind if he maloigns ye,” said Barney, thinking of Diamond.
Frank pressed their hands and bade them good-night. Then they departed.
CHAPTER IV—INZA’S LETTER
Barney and Hans did not turn up on the following morning as soon as Frank expected they would, and as he had forgotten to ask where they boarded, he could not go to find them.
Merriwell had spent a restless, almost a sleepless night. But, although his face was pale, he seemed as full of energy as ever.
He had conceived a plan by which, with Barney’s aid, he fancied he might find Inza. But Barney—where was he?
It was past nine o’clock when the Irish lad came tearing up to the hotel, followed by Hans, who was puffing and blowing like a porpoise, his eyes bulging from his head, his face expressing the wildest excitement.
“Frankie!” gasped Barney.
“Vrankie!” panted Hans.