“This beats anything I ever came against!” he exclaimed. “Was it a spook?”
Then the pain in his throat, where those iron hands had threatened to crush his windpipe, told him that it was no “spook.”
“And it could not have been a dream,” he decided. “I know there was a living man in this room. How did he escape? That is one question. When it is answered, I shall know how he obtained admittance. And why did he come here?”
Frank examined his clothes to make sure that nothing had been taken. He soon discovered that his watch, money and such valuables as he carried about with him every day, were there, not a thing having been disturbed. That settled one point in Frank’s mind. The man had not entered that room for the purpose of robbery.
If not for robbery, what then?
It must have been for the purpose of wreaking some injury on Merriwell as he slept.
“I was warned by my feelings,” Frank decided. “I was in deadly peril; there is no doubt of that.”
Frank went to the window and looked out. It seemed a foolish thing to do, for he had looked out and seen that there was not even a fire escape to aid a person in gaining admittance to his room. The fire escape, he had been told, was at the end of the corridor.
It was a night without a moon, but the electric lights shone in the street below. Something caused Merry to turn his head and look to his left.
What was that?