“If Frank Merriwell should learn that I am here he could not reach me, unless he has the wings of a bird!” the villain chuckled, as he looked at Charles Conrad Merriwell. “If he should telegraph Selton Dirk, Dirk is in New York City, sent there on a mission by one of my trusted agents. If any ordinary policeman should attempt to touch me, I should simply laugh at him and make the fellow go away feeling worse than a sneak for having suspected me. Everything has worked to my hand. Frank is away, and can’t even dream of the plot that sent him away, and I am free to work my will!”
Then he began again to talk to the elder Merriwell, speaking in the droning way he sometimes delighted to affect, again playing with the helpless man like the cat with the mouse. By and by he took up the statement which Merriwell had prepared at his dictation, smilingly read it, and placed it on the table in a conspicuous manner, with a paper-weight to hold it down.
After that, he looked through the notes bearing the signature of Charles Conrad Merriwell, ascertained that they were all right in every way on their surface, and tucked them away in an inner pocket in a leather wallet.
“Come! It’s time to go!” he said, speaking to Merriwell.
Merriwell aroused.
“Yes?”
“You will take the electric car at this corner for the boat landings. There you will hire a boat or steal one, row out a half-mile from shore, and throw yourself overboard and sink. This letter on the table will explain to the world why. This is my command. You will do it. You obeyed me in the mine and fired the blast that shut you in; you must obey me as implicitly in this. I will it, and my will is now your law. Go!”
His face had assumed a wolfish look, and his eyes were again shooting out their red gleams.
“Yes!”
Merriwell made the promise and rose to his feet to carry it out, as completely subjected to the will of the man before him as if he were an automaton.