"Who did it?" demanded Frank. "Who told you?"
"A friend."
"Give me his name—give me his name, or by the eternal skies, I'll choke it out of you! Who was the miserable cur who told you where I placed that stuff?"
"Don't—don't!" whined old Dan. "You—you hurt!"
"His name!" thundered Frank, his eyes blazing, his face showing such fury that the intoxicated man trembled and cowered.
"It—it was Sargent," faltered the old actor.
"I thought so!" came from Merriwell. "It was what I might expect of him! The wretch! See what he has done! See what you have done! Look at that poor girl!"
"She blabbed!"
"Silence! You struck her, knocked her down, kicked her! You should spend the rest of your days in prison for that! Oh, what devilish stuff whisky is!"