Thus they gazed at each other some seconds.
There was no weapon in the hands of the masked man, and Merriwell guessed that the fellow was a burglar.
That was Frank’s first thought.
Then came another.
Why had the man sought the bed? Frank’s clothes were lying on some chairs outside the alcove, and in order to go through them it had not been necessary to come near the bed.
Then Merry remembered the feeling of danger that had come over him, and something told him this man had entered that room to do him harm. Somehow, Frank became convinced that the fellow had been creeping up to seize a pillow, fling himself on the bed, press the pillow over the sleeper’s face, and commit a fearful crime.
Even then Frank wondered how the man could have gained admittance to the room.
Up leaped the former Yale athlete; backward sprang the masked man. Over the foot of the bed Merry recklessly flung himself, dodging a hand that shot out at him, and placing himself between the man and the door.
As he bounded toward the door, Merriwell saw, with a feeling of unutterable amazement, that it was tightly closed and that the bolt was shot in place, just as he had left it.
He whirled about, with his back toward the door.