Incapable of feeling gratitude, the fellow had never realized that Merry had shown him any kindness in not exposing him and bringing about his disgrace when his crookedness was first discovered at college.
Knowing that he would never let up in the least on an enemy, Harris had believed Frank "soft" because of his generosity. The fellow's hatred had grown steadily with each and every failure to injure Merriwell, while his conscience had become so hardened that he was not troubled in the least by things which might have worried him once.
As Harris swung the knife aloft, Frank had braced his feet, preparing to thrust himself over backward as the only means of escaping the blow. This, however, had not been necessary, for Mazarin had interfered.
"Now," said the little man, seeming to assume command, "it's time for us to get out of here."
"I guess that's right," came weakly from Harris. "Some one might come."
"By this time it's dark, and we can slip out by the stage door without attracting attention."
"We mustn't be seen coming out."
"It's well enough not to be seen, but it wouldn't make much difference if we were. The people who saw us might think we were members of Merriwell's show."
"Merriwell's show!" cried Harris, forcing a laugh. "I rather think his show business is over. We have put an end to that."
Then he turned on Frank, some of the color getting back into his face.