"I see it," said Frank; but at that moment his eyes were following the strange old man in the black cloak, who had left the car with them and was walking toward the very brink of Horseshoe Falls, leaning heavily on his crooked cane and seeming quite feeble.
"I was wrong about him," thought Merry. "He is interested in the falls—he is fascinated by them."
The old man pressed forward until he was within the very edge of the cloud of mist that rose from the depths below. He seemed totally unconscious of the presence of others in the vicinity. At that point there was no iron railing, and he leaned forward, planting his cane on the wet stones beneath his feet, and peered downward, apparently watching the little steamer, Maid of the Mist, which now came swinging out of the spray at the foot of the American Falls and headed toward the Canadian side.
"If he should slip there," thought Frank, "it would be all over with him in a moment. I wonder that he ventures so near."
A sudden feeling of anxiety for the old man possessed him, and he suggested to Inza that they should move up toward the brink of the falls.
Leaving the others so absorbed in watching the tiny steamer far below that the move of Merry and Inza was not observed they approached the point where the old man stood.
"What is he doing?" questioned Inza, in surprise. "It must be very dangerous there. Call to him, Frank; tell him to come away."
But Merriwell feared to startle the old man, and therefore he did not call.
Above them the rapids came sweeping down toward the falls, the water rushing with such volume and force that it created a feeling of dread, for it was plain that anything once fairly caught in its clutch must be carried, in spite of all human endeavor and strength, over the brink to destruction.
"Remain here, Inza," advised Frank, being compelled to raise his voice in order to make himself understood above the roar of the water. "I'm going to step down there a little nearer. He may slip."