To the surprise of the four youths, M. Montfort utterly ignored them on the following day, instead of seeking "trouble," as had been anticipated.
"Well," said Jack, in disgust, "he has less courage than I thought. He is just a common boasting Frenchman."
"He is not a common Frenchman." declared Frank. "I believe he is a rascal of more than common calibre."
"But he lacks nerve, and I have nothing but contempt for him," said the Virginian. "I didn't know but he would challenge me to a duel."
"What if he had?"
"What if he had?" hissed the hot-blooded Southern youth. "I'd fought him at the drop of the hat!"
"That's all right, but you know most Frenchmen fight well in a duel."
"I don't know anything of the kind. They are expert fencers, but I notice it is mighty seldom one of them is killed in a duel. They sometimes draw a drop of blood, and then they consider that 'honor is satisfied,' and that ends it."
It was midway in the forenoon that Frank met Mr. Slush on deck. The little man was looking more doleful and dejected than ever, if possible.
"The—ah—the moon showed rather yellow last night," he said. "That is a—a sure sign of disaster."
"Well," said Merry, with a smile, "I think the disaster will befall you, sir, if you do not steer clear of the crowd you were in last night."
Mr. Slush looked surprised.
"Might I—ah—inquire your meaning?" he faltered.
"I mean that you are playing poker with card-sharps, and they mean to rob you," answered Frank, plainly.
"I—I wonder how you—er—know so much," said the little man, with something like faint sarcasm, as Frank fancied.
"It makes little difference how I know it, but I am telling you the truth. I am warning you for your good, sir."
"Er—ahem! Thank you—very much."
Mr. Slush walked away.
"Well, I'm hanged if he doesn't take it coolly enough!" muttered Frank, perplexed.
Frank felt an interest to know how Sport Harris was getting along. He walked forward and found the captain near the steps that led to the bridge.
In reply to Merry's inquiry, the captain said:
"Oh, don't worry about him. There are rats down there in the hold, but I guess he'll be able to fight them off. He'll have bread and water the rest of the voyage."
After that Merry could not help thinking of Harris all alone in the darkness of the hold, with swarms of rats around him, eating dry bread, washed down with water.
Frank felt that the youthful villain did not deserve any sympathy, but, despite himself, he could not help feeling a pang of pity for him.
When he expressed himself thus to his friends, however, they scoffed at him.
"Serves the dog right!" flashed Diamond. "He is getting just what he deserves, and I'm glad of it!"
"He will get what he deserves when we reach the other side," grunted Browning.
"No," said Merry; "he is an American, and he'll have to be taken back to the United States for punishment."
"Well, he'll get it all right."
"Well, I don't care to think that he may be driven mad shut up in the dark hold with the rats."
This feeling grew on Frank. At last he went to the captain and asked liberty to see Harris.
The request was granted, and, accompanied by two men, Frank descended into the hold.
Down there, amid barrels and casks, they came upon Harris. Frank heard the irons rattle, and then a gaunt-looking, wild-eyed creature rose up before them, shown by the yellow light of the lanterns.
Frank Merriwell had steady nerves, but, despite himself, he started.
The appearance of the fellow had changed in a most remarkable manner. Harris looked as if he was overcome with terror.
"There he is," said one of the men, holding up his lantern so the light fell more plainly on the wretched prisoner.
"Have you come to take me out of here?" cried Harris, in a tone of voice that gave Frank a chill. "For God's sake, take me out of this place! I'll go mad if I stay here much longer! It is full of rats! I could not sleep last night—I dare not close my eyes for a minute! Please—please take me out of here!"
Then he saw and recognized Frank.
"You?" he screamed. "Have you come here to gloat over me, Frank Merriwell?"
"No," said Frank; "I have come to see if I can do anything for you."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Harris, in a manner that made Frank believe madness could not be far away. "You wouldn't do that! I know why you are here! You have triumphed over me! You wish to see me in all my misery! Well, look at me! Here I have been thrown into this hellish hole, amid rats and vermin, ironed like a nigger! Look till you are satisfied! It will fill your heart with satisfaction! Mock me! Sneer at me! Deride me!"
"I have no desire to do anything of the sort," declared Frank. "I am sorry for you, Harris."
"Sorry! Bah! You lie! Why do you tell me that?"
"It is the truth. You brought this on yourself, and so——"
"Don't tell me that again! You have told it enough! If I'd never seen you, I'd not be here now. You brought it on me, Frank Merriwell. If I die here in this cursed hole, you'll have something pleasant to think about! You can laugh over it!"
"You shall not die here, Harris, if I can help it. I'll speak to the captain about you."
The wretch stared at Merry, his eyes looking sunken and glittering. Then, all at once, he crouched down there, his chains clanking, covered his face with his hands and began to cry.
No matter what Harris had done, Frank was deeply pitiful then.
"I shall go directly to the captain," he promised, "and I'll ask him to have you taken out of this place. I will urge him to have it done."
Harris said nothing.
Frank had seen enough, and he turned away. As they were moving off, Harris began to scream and call to them, begging them not to leave him there in the darkness.
Those cries cut through and through Frank Merriwell. He knew he was in no way responsible for the fate that had befallen the fellow, and yet he felt that he must do something for Harris.
He kept his word, going directly to the captain.
The captain listened to what Frank had to say, but his sternness did not seem to relax in the least, as Merry described the sufferings the prisoner was enduring. But Frank would not be satisfied till the captain had made a promise to visit Harris himself and see that the fellow was taken out and cared for if he needed it.
Needless to say that the captain forgot to make the visit right away.
Frank did not tell his friends where he had been and what he had seen. He did not feel like talking about it, and they noticed that he looked strangely grim and thoughtful.
Tutor Maybe tried to talk to him about studies, but Merry was in no mood for that, as his instructor soon discovered.
Despite the fact that the sea was running high, Rattleton seemed to have recovered in a great measure from his sickness, so he was able to get on deck with the others. At noon, he even went to the table and ate lightly, drinking ginger ale with his food.
An hour after dinner Frank found a game of poker going on in the smoking-room. Mr. Slush was in the game. So were the Frenchman, the Englishman, and Bloodgood.
No money was in sight, but it was plain enough from the manner in which the game was played that the chips each man held had been purchased for genuine money, and the game was one for "blood."
M. Montfort looked up for a moment as Frank stopped to watch the game. Their eyes met. The Frenchman permitted a sneer to steal across his face, while Frank looked at him steadily till his eyes dropped.
At a glance, Merry saw that Bloodgood was "shakey." The fellow had been growing worse and worse as the voyage progressed, and now he seemed on the verge of a break-down.
A few minutes after entering the room Frank heard one of the spectators whisper to another that Bloodgood was "bulling the game," and had lost heavily.
Bloodgood was drinking deeply. Mr. Slush seemed to be indulging rather freely. The Frenchman sipped a little wine now and then, and the Englishman drank at regular intervals.
The Frenchman was perfectly cool. The Englishman was phlegmatic. Slush hesitated sometimes, but, to the surprise of the boys, seemed rather collected. Bloodgood was hot and excited.
Frank took a position where he could look on. He watched every move. After a time he discerned that the Englishman and the Frenchman were playing to each other, although the trick was done so skillfully that it did not seem apparent.
Bloodgood lost all his chips. The game was held up for a few moments. He stepped into the next room and returned with a fresh supply.
"This is the bottom," he declared. "You people may have them as soon as you like. To blazes with them! Let's lift the limit."
"Ah—er—let's throw it off—entirely," suggested Mr. Slush.
Bloodgood glared at the little man in astonishment.
"What?" he cried. "You propose that? Why, you didn't want to play a bigger game than a quarter limit at the start!"
"Perhaps you are—er—right," admitted Mr. Slush. "I—er—don't deny it. But I have grown more—more interested, you understand. I—I don't mind playing a good game—now."
"Well, then, if the other gentlemen say so, by the gods, we'll make it no limit!" Bloodgood almost shouted.
The Frenchman bowed suavely, a slight smile curling the ends of his pointed mustache upward.
"I haf not ze least—what you call eet?—ze least objectshong," he purred.
"I don't mind," said the Englishman.
Now there was great interest. Somehow, Frank felt that a climax was coming. He watched everything with deep interest.
Luck continued to run against Bloodgood. To Frank's surprise, it was plain Mr. Slush was winning. This seemed to surprise and puzzle both the Englishman and the Frenchman.
It was hard work to draw the little man in when Hazleton or Montfort dealt. On his own deal or that of Bloodgood, he seemed ready for anything.
"By Jove!" whispered Frank, in Diamond's ear. "That man is not such a fool as I thought! I haven't been able to understand him at all, and I don't understand him now."
At length there came a big jack-pot. It was passed round several times. Then Hazleton opened it on three nines.
Bloodgood sat next. He had two pairs, aces up, and he raised instantly.
Montfort was the next man. He held a pair of deuces, but he saw all that had been bet, and doubled the amount!
Mr. Slush hesitated a little. He seemed ready to lay down, but finally braced up and came in, calling.
Hazleton did not accept the call. He raised again.
Bloodgood looked at his hand and cursed under his breath. It was just good enough to make him feel that he ought to make another raise, but he began to think there were other good hands out, and it was not possible to tell where continued raising would land him, so he "made good."
With nothing but a pair of deuces in his hand, Montfort "cracked her up" again for a good round sum.
The hair on the head of Mr. Slush seemed to stand. He swallowed and looked pale. Then he "made good."
Hazleton had his turn again, and he improved it. For the next few minutes, Montfort and Hazleton had a merry time raising, but neither Slush nor Bloodgood threw up.
"This is where they are sinking the knife in the suckers!" muttered Jack Diamond.
Frank Merriwell said not a word. His eyes were watching every move.
At last the betting stopped, and Slush picked up the pack to give out the cards.
Hazleton called for two. He received them, and remained imperturbable.
He had caught nothing with his three nines.
Bloodgood had tumbled to the fact that he was "up against" threes, and he had discarded his pair of low cards, holding only the two aces. To these he drew a seven and two more aces!
Bloodgood turned pale and then flushed. He held onto himself with all his strength. Here was his chance to get back his losings. Everything was in his favor. He was confident there were some good hands out, and it was very likely some of them might be improved on the draw, but he felt the pot was the same as his.
The Frenchman drew two cards.
Slush took one.
Then hot work began. Within three minutes Hazleton, with his three nines, had been driven out. Bloodgood, Montfort and Slush remained, raising steadily.
There was intense excitement in that room. The captain of the steamer had come in, and he was looking on. Some of the spectators were literally shaking with excitement.
Bloodgood's chips were used up. He flung money on the table.
All that he had went into the pot, and still he would not call. He offered his I.O.U.'s, but Mr. Slush declined to agree.
"Money or its equivalent," said the little man, with such decisiveness that all were astonished.
"I haven't any money," protested Bloodgood.
"Then you are out," said Slush.
"It's robbery!" cried Bloodgood.
"Why, you can't kick; you haven't even called once."
"Not even once, saire," purred the Frenchman.
"By blazes! I have the equivalent!" shouted Bloodgood.
Into an inner pocket he plunged. He brought out a velvet jewel box. When this was opened, there was a cry of wonder, for a magnificent diamond necklace was revealed.
"That is worth ten thousand dollars!" declared Bloodgood, "and I'll bet as long as it lasts!"
Mr. Slush held out his hand.
"Please let me examine it," he said.
He took a good look at it.
"Ees it all right, sair?" asked the Frenchman, eagerly.
"It is," said Mr. Slush, "and I will take charge of it!"
He thrust the case into his pocket, rose quickly, stepped past Montfort and clapped a hand on Bloodgood's shoulder.
"I arrest you, Benton Hammersley, for the Clayton diamond robbery!" he said. "It is useless for you to resist, for you are on shipboard, and you cannot escape."
Bloodgood uttered a fierce curse.
"Who in the fiend's name are you?" he snarled, turning pale.
And "Mr. Slush" answered:
"Dan Badger, of the New York detective force! Permit me to present you with a pair of handsome bracelets, Mr. Hammersley."
Click—the trapped diamond thief was ironed!
Everyone except the detective himself seemed astounded. The clever officer, who had played his part so well, was as cool as ice.
The Frenchman cried:
"But zis pot—eet ees not settailed to whom eet belong yet!"
The detective stepped back to his chair.
"The easiest way to settle that is by a show-down," he said. "Under the circumstances, further bettering is out of the question."
"And I rather think I am in the showdown," choked out the prisoner. "I'll need this money to defend myself when I come to trial."
"You shall have it," assured Dan Badger—"if you win it."
"Well, I think I'll win it," said the ironed man, spreading out his hand. "I have four aces, and you can't beat that."
"Oh, my dear saire!" cried the Frenchman. "Zat ees pretty gude, but I belief zis ees battaire. How you like zat for a straight flush?"
He lay his cards on the table, and he had the two, three, four, five and six of hearts.
There was a shout of astonishment.
"Ze pot ees mine!" exultantly cried the Frenchman.
"Stop!" rang out Frank Merriwell's clear voice. "That pot is not yours!"
Everyone looked at Merry.
"He is using a table 'hold-out!'" accused Frank, pointing straight at Montfort. "I saw him make the shift. The five cards that really belong in his hands will be found in the hold-out under the table!"
There was dead silence. The Frenchman turned sallow.
"It makes no difference," said the quiet voice of the detective, breaking the silence. "I have a higher straight flush of clubs here. Mine runs up to the eight spot, and so I win the pot."
He showed his cards and raked in the pot.
With a savage cry, M. Montfort flung his hand aside, leaped to his feet, sprang at Frank, and struck for Merry's face.
The blow was parried, and he was knocked down instantly.
A sailor, pale and shaking, came dashing into the room and whispered a word in the captain's ear.
An oath broke from the captain's lips, and he whirled about and rushed from the room.
Slowly Montfort picked himself up. There was a livid mark on his cheek. He glared at Frank with deadly hatred.
"Cursed meddlaire!" he grated. "You shall pay for this."
There was consternation outside. On the deck was heard the sound of running feet.
"Something has happened!" said Diamond, hurrying to the door. "I wonder what it is."
The "Eagle" was plunging along through a heavy sea. On the deck some men were running to and fro. Everyone seemed in the greatest consternation.
Jack sprang out and stopped a man.
"What is the matter?" he demanded.
"The ship is on fire!" was the shaking answer. "There is a fire in the hold!"
Diamond staggered. He whirled about and sprang into the smoking-room. In a moment he was at Frank's side.
"Merry," he said, "what I feared has come! The steamer is on fire!"
"Where?"
"In the hold."
Frank remembered the barrels and casks he had seen there.
"Then we are liable to go scooting skyward in a hurry!" he said. "It can't take the fire long to reach the petroleum and powder!"
In truth, there was a fire in the "Eagle's" hold. The captain and the crew seemed perfectly panic-stricken. The thought of the explosion that might come any moment seemed to rob them of all reason.
Frank Merriwell and his friends rushed out of the smoking-room.
The hold had been opened in an attempt to get water onto the flames. Smoke was rolling up from the opening.
"Close down the hatch!" shouted somebody. "It is producing a draft, and that helps the fire along!"
Then faint cries came from the hold—cries of a human being in danger and distress!
"It's Harris!" exclaimed Diamond. "He is down there, and his time has come at last!"
"A rope!" shouted Frank Merriwell, flinging off his coat.
"What are you going to do?" demanded Bruce Browning.
"By heavens! I am going down there and try to bring Harris out!"
"You're a fool!" chattered Harry Rattleton. "Think of the oil and powder down there! The stuff is liable to explode any moment! You shall not go!"
Frank saw a coil of rope at a distance. He rushed for it, brought it to the hold, let an end drop and dangle into the darkness from whence the smoke rolled up.
"You are crazy!" roared Bruce Browning, attempting to get hold of Frank. "I refuse to let you go down there!"
"Don't put your hands on me, Browning!" cried Frank. "If you do, I shall knock you down!"
They saw that he meant just what he said. He would not be stopped then. Bruce Browning, giant that he was, felt that he would be no match for Frank then.
The rope was made fast, and down into the smoke and darkness slid Frank, disappearing from view.
Barely had he done so when some sailors came rushing forward and attempted to close the hatch.
"Hold on!" thundered Browning. "You can't do that now!"
"Get out of the way!" commanded one of them, who seemed to be an officer. "We must close this hatch to hold the fire in check long enough for the boats to be lowered."
"A friend of mine has gone down there. You can't close it till he comes out!"
"To blazes with your friend!" snarled the man. "What business had he to go down there? If he's gone, he will have to stay there. His life does not count against all the others."
Then, under his directions the men started to close the hatch.
Browning sailed into them. He was aroused to his full extent by the thought of what would happen if the hatch was closed and Frank was shut down there with the fire and smoke. He knocked them aside, he hurled them away as if they were children. They could not stand before him for an instant.
There was a cry from below.
"Pull away, up there!"
It was Frank's voice.
Willing hands seized the rope. There was a heavy weight at the end of it. They dragged the weight up, with the smoke rolling into their faces in a cloud that grew denser and denser.
And up through the smoke came Sport Harris, irons and all, with the ends of the rope tied about his waist!
Frank had found Harris, and here the fellow was.
They untied the rope from Sport's waist in a hurry. Then they lowered it again.
"Pull away!"
Frank Merriwell was dragged up through the smoke.
"Now," said Browning, "down goes the hatch!"
And it was slammed into place in a hurry, holding the smoke back.
The pumps were going, in an attempt to flood the hold, but the men did not attempt to fight the fire in anything like a reasonable manner.
The knowledge of the cargo down there in the hold turned them to cowards and unreasoning beings. They were expecting to be blown skyward at any moment.
Of a sudden the engines stopped and the "Eagle" began to lose headway. Men were making preparations to lower the boats.
"Well, I'll be hanged if they are not going to abandon the ship!" exclaimed Frank. "The case must be pretty bad. I wonder how the fire started,"
"I set it!"
At his feet was Harris, whom he had just rescued from the hell below, and the fellow had declared that he set the fire!
"You?"
"Yes," said the wretch. "I was crazy. I found a match in my pocket, and I thought I was willing to roast if I could destroy you, so I set the fire. Pretty soon I realized what I had done, but then I found it too late when I tried to beat it out. The old steamer will go into the air in a few minutes, and we'll all go with it, unless we can get off in the boats right away."
"It would have served you right had I left you to your fate!" grated Frank, as he turned away.
He ran down to his stateroom to gather up some of the few little valuables he hoped to save. He was not gone long, but when he returned, he found two boats had been launched and were pulling away, the persons in them being in great haste to get as far from the steamer as they could before the explosion.
Three or four women were in the first boat.
It was rather difficult to lower the boats in the heavy sea that was running, but the men were working swiftly, pushed by the terror of the coming disaster.
A little smoke curled up from the battened-down hatches.
As Frank reached the deck, he nearly ran against M. Rouen Montfort, who was carrying a pair of swords in scabbards, which seemed to be treasures he wished to save.
The Frenchman stopped and glared at Merry.
"Cursed Yankee!" he grated. "I would like to put one of zese gude blades t'rough your heart!"
"Haven't a doubt of it," said Merriwell, coolly. "That's about the kind of a man I took you to be."
Another boat got away, and the last boat was swung from the davits.
A sailor counted the men who remained and spoke to the captain. The latter said:
"At best, the boat will not hold them all. There is one too many, at least. Let the fellow in irons stay behind."
Harris heard this, and fancied his doom was sealed. He began to beg to be taken along, but one of the men gave him a kick.
The Frenchman turned on Frank.
"Do you hear?" he cried. "One cannot go. Do you make eet ze poor deval in ze iron? or do you dare fight me to see wheech one of us eet ees? Eef you make eet ze poor devval, eet show you are ze cowarde. Ha! I theenk you do not dare to fight!"
He spat toward Merry to express his contempt.
"Let me fight him!" panted Diamond at Frank's elbow.
"See that Harris is put into the boat!" ordered Merriwell. "I fancy I can take care of this Frenchman. If you do not get Harris into the boat I swear I will not enter it if I conquer Montfort!"
Then he whirled on the Frenchman.
"I accept your challenge!" he cried in clear tones.
Montfort uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. He flung off his coat, saying:
"Choose ze weapon, saire."
Frank did not pause to look them over in making a selection. He caught up one of them and drew it from the scabbard.
Montfort took the other.
"Ready?" cried the American youth.
"Ready!" answered the Frenchman.
Clash!—the swords came together and there on the deck of the burning steamer the strange duel began.
Frank fought with all the coolness and skill he could command. He fought as if he had been standing on solid ground instead of the deck of a ship that might be blown into a thousand fragments at any moment.
The Frenchman had fancied that the Yankee would prove easy to conquer, but he soon discovered Frank possessed no little skill, and he saw that he must do his best.
More than once Montfort thrust to run Frank through the body, and once his sword passed between the youth's left arm and his side.
Merry saw that the Frenchman really meant to kill him if possible.
Then men were getting into the boat. There were but few seconds left in which to finish the duel. Rattleton called to him from the, boat, shouting above the roar of the wind:
"Finish him, Frank! Come on, now! Lively!"
The tip of Montfort's sword slit Frank's sleeve and touched his arm.
"Next time I get you!" hissed the vindictive Frenchman.
But right then Frank saw his opportunity. He made a lunge and drove his sword into the Frenchman's side.
Montfort uttered a cry, dropped his sword, flung up his hands, and sunk bleeding to the deck.
Merry flung his blood-stained weapon aside and bent over the man, saying sincerely:
"I hope your wound is not fatal, M. Montfort."
"It makes no difference!" gasped the man. "You are ze victor, so I must stay here an' die jus' ze same."
But Frank Merriwell was seized by a feeling of horror at the thought of leaving this man whom he had wounded. In a moment he realized he would be haunted all his life by the memory if he did so.
Quickly he caught M. Montfort up in his arms. He sprang to the side of the steamer. The boat was holding in for him. His friends shouted to him. The captain ordered him to jump at once.
"Catch this man!"
He lifted M. Montfort, swung him over the rail, and dropped him fairly into the boat!
"He has chosen," said the captain. "The boat will hold no more. Pull away!"
It was useless for Frank's friends to beg and plead. Away went the boat, leaving the noble youth to his doom.
Forty minutes later there was a terrible flare of fire and smoke, a thunderous explosion, and the ill-fated steamer had blown up.
Harry Rattleton was crying like a baby.
"Poor Frank!" he sobbed. "Noblest fellow in all the world—good-by! I'll never see you again!"
Tears rolled down Bruce Browning's face, and Jack Diamond, grim and speechless, looked as if the light of the world had gone out forever.
Some days later the passengers and crew from the lost "Eagle" were landed at Liverpool by the steamer "Seneca," which had picked them up at sea. The "Seneca" was a slow old craft, but she got there all right.
A little grimy tender carried Bruce, Jack, Harry and the tutor from the "Seneca" to the floating dock. It was a sad and wretched-looking party.
On the dock stood a young man who shouted to them and waved his hand.
Jack Diamond started, gasped, clutched Browning and whispered:
"Look—look there, Bruce! Tell me if I am going crazy, or do you see somebody who looks like—"
Harry Rattleton clutched the big fellow by the other side, spluttering:
"Am I doing gaffy—I mean going daffy? Look there! Who is that waving his hand to us?"
"It's the ghost of Frank Merriwell, as true as there are such things as ghosts!" muttered Browning.
But it was no ghost. It was Frank Merriwell in the flesh, alive and well! He greeted them as they came off the tender. He caught them in his arms, laughing, shouting, overjoyed. And they, realizing it really was him, hugged him and wept like a lot of big-hearted, manly young men.
Frank explained in a few words. He told how, after they had left him, he had belted himself well with life-preservers and left the "Eagle" in time to get away before the explosion. Then he was picked up by an Atlantic liner, which brought him to Liverpool in advance of his friends.
Thus he was there to receive them, and it seemed that the sea had given up its dead.
[THE END.]
[THE END.]
The next number (159) of the TIP TOP WEEKLY will contain "Frank Merriwell's Backer; or, Among London Sports," by Burt L. Standish.
The next number (159) of the TIP TOP WEEKLY will contain "Frank Merriwell's Backer; or, Among London Sports," by Burt L. Standish.