The messenger now presented a receipt for Frank to sign, having produced a fountain pen.
Merry signed the receipt, although for some reason which he himself did not fully understand his hand was not as steady as usual.
“There,” said the man, “I thank goodness that my task is accomplished!”
“Who gave you this?” asked Frank.
“My chief.”
“Your chief? You mean——”
“I am in the employ of the Great Western Detective Agency, of Denver, and my chief placed this in my hands. He stated that I was to receive two thousand dollars if I delivered it into your hands. He had been asked to name a man who was reliable, and I was chosen. The man who sent the message fixed the remuneration I was to receive. What he paid the chief I do not know.”
Strange thoughts ran riot in Frank’s brain. He had not heard from his father for some time, and he had not seen Mr. Merriwell since they parted in Florida. The last letter had assured Frank that his father was safe and comfortable, and, knowing the peculiarities of the man, he had not worried much for all of the period of silence. But now something told Merry that strange things were soon to happen.
“You have performed your duty well,” said Merry, as he returned the pen to the man in gray.
“Thank you,” said the stranger quietly. “And now I will bid you good-by.”