Frank did not receive the letter till the following day, and then, as soon as possible, he started for Bloomfield.
It was ten in the evening when the train drew up at Bloomfield Station, and Frank stepped off, grip in hand.
There were few persons at the station. Some of them stared at him with curiosity.
Bloomfield was a sleepy town in the daytime, and now nearly all the houses lay in darkness.
Frank walked down the platform.
“To the hotel, sir?” asked a boy. “Let me carry your grip.”
Frank turned to look at the youngster and ran plump into another person.
“Confound you!” snapped the individual Merry had encountered. “Haven’t you any eyes?”
“I beg your pardon,” said Frank. “I was not look——”
He stopped short. A gleam of light from the station showed him the face of the person to whom he was speaking.