“What is his name?”
“William Shakespeare Burns,” was the astonishing answer.
Frank staggered. He told the watchman he had made a mistake, but the man insisted that he had not. That was enough to excite Merry more than anything that had happened to date.
Could it be that Burns, the old actor, whom he had befriended, had sought his life?
It did not seem possible.
If it were true, then, beyond a doubt, the man had been bribed to do the deed by some person who remained in the background.
It did not take Frank long to tell the watchman what had happened. The man could scarcely believe it. He seemed to regard Merriwell as somewhat deranged.
“If you do not think I am telling the truth,” said Merry, “get your keys and try my door. If you are able to open it, I shall be greatly pleased.”
The watchman did so, but he could not open the door of the room.
“Now,” said Merry, “to make yourself doubly sure, go down to the sidewalk in front of the hotel and you will find the rope there.”