"It is my knife," declared the unknown. "With a single stroke I can open the vein in your throat, and nothing in all the world can save you."
The situation was one to send a thrill through the strongest nerves.
"What do you want?" asked Merry, in a low tone.
"Softer than that!" hissed the fellow with the knife. "Don't speak louder than a whisper if your life to you has any value."
"What do you want?" whispered Merry.
"Ha! That is right! Now let me warn you further. There is a stout cord across your neck, and you cannot lift your head if you attempt it so much as your strength will admit. The cord is made fast to both sides of the bed beneath you. You are perfectly helpless. First it is that I want you to know. Even if the cord should not be there, with my knife I could kill you when you tried to struggle. Now should you with your hands grasp me you would be like a child to destroy."
"Having made all this plain, go ahead and tell me what you are after," urged Merriwell.
"Are you not afraid? I expected to hear your teeth chattering together like castanets. I expected to feel your body shaking, as if with a great chill."
There was disappointment in these whispered words.
"What good would it do me to be afraid?"