At that very instant Frank Merriwell’s eyes rested on the face of the one he sought. There he was, almost directly opposite.
“Bart!” he shouted—“Bart Hodge!”
Hodge must have heard the cry, for he looked across and his eyes found Frank’s.
A moment later Hodge was swept out of sight by the stampeding crowd.
Frank felt himself lifted, carried, whirled about, borne onward despite himself. He struggled to run back, to force his way toward the spot where he had seen Hodge. It was useless.
Bang! bang! bang!—the police were hammering at the heavy doors.
Crash!—a door fell.
The police rushed in and the lights went out!
How it happened Frank Merriwell was unable to tell, but in the darkness he was swept along through a doorway, down a flight of stairs, carried onward again by the rushing men, to finally stumble down another flight and grope his way out into the street by a basement door.
He had escaped arrest, but had lost Hodge. He found his way back to the saloon where he had purchased the ticket, but that was in the hands of the police.