CHAPTER XXVIII.THE EXPLOSION.
Frank fancied he saw through the rascal’s guile, and yet he could not repress a smile, for surely Mr. ’Awkins was very slick about it. The boy believed he now understood why the fellow had appeared so extremely solicitous for his safety when he saw him hustled by the mob. ’Awkins had spotted the pin in conversation with Frank, and he had improved an excellent opportunity to obtain possession of it.
It was quite likely that ’Awkins had overestimated the value of the pin, which was not worth more than four or five dollars, and had been quite disappointed when he tried to dispose of it. He had not parted with it for the price offered by the “fence” to whom he had taken it, and, seeing Frank in the window, he had suddenly conceived the scheme of returning it, as if that had been his intention all along.
“You are extremely clever,” said the boy, as he quickly took the pin from the man’s hand, observing with surprise that Mr. ’Awkins gave it up readily without demanding a reward before parting with it; “but I think you overstepped yourself this time.”
“’Ow is that, young sir?”
“I am not going to pay you for snatching my scarfpin, now that I have it in my possession.”
“As you consider right and proper, young sir,” bowed the man, very humbly. “I hassure you as ’ow it is a pleasure to be hable to protect the hinnocent from the wultures who try to pluck them. That is reward henough for ’Arry ’Awkins, of Deptford.”
Frank was forced to laugh.
“I must say you are very modest in your demands.”
“Modesty is one of my chief wirtooes, sir. If I were not so werry modest I might be a rich man now.”
“You might, if you escaped prison; but you would have to take desperate chances on that.”
“And is this the way you thanks me for saving your pin, sir!” came reproachfully from Mr. ’Awkins. “Well,” he sighed, “it is hoften thus.”
He pretended to wipe some moisture from the corner of his eye with a high-colored handkerchief. He was in no hurry about leaving, and it seemed plain that he still lingered with the hope of receiving something for his “honesty.”
“If you would give me your haddress, young sir, I might be hinduced to call at your rooms to-morrow,” he said. “It may be as ’ow you will look at this matter in a werry different light hafter a bit, sir.”
“I scarcely think it is probable, and you may save yourself the trouble of calling on me. Good-day, Mr. ’Awkins.”
“Good-day, sir,” said the man from Deptford, but he did not make a move to go.
“There is no reason why you should remain longer,” said Frank, in a businesslike manner. “You may go.”
“Werry well. Mabe as ’ow I ’ad better leave my haddress, in case you should change your mind.”
“You may save yourself the trouble.”
“It is ’ard to be wrongly judged, sir, but it is hoften the way in this world. Good-day, young sir.”
Mr. ’Awkins seemed to give up in despair, and he was about to leave the room when something of a startling nature happened.
There was a crash of glass, and an object came through the window and landed on the floor within three feet of Frank Merriwell.
A single glance was enough to show the boy what the object was, for a smoking, burning fuse was attached to it!
Inza uttered a cry of terror, while her father exclaimed:
“What is it?”
“A bomb!” gasped ’Arry ’Awkins.
“A bomb!” echoed Frank.
The fuse was very short, and the spark of fire was swiftly eating toward the deadly ball.
Without hesitation, Frank caught up the spluttering thing and sprang toward the broken window with it in his hand!
It was a quick-witted, daring and nervy act—the act of a boy whose brain seemed to work with lightning rapidity, and whose hand was scarcely slower than his brain.
The window was reached, and with all his strength the lad flung the thing through the jagged opening in the glass.
It made a sweeping curve through the air, struck the ground and exploded.
The detonation was terrific. A mass of earth, paving stones, fire and smoke leaped upward from the place where the bomb struck, and there was a jangling crash of glass from hundreds of windows, while the buildings near at hand seemed to stagger and reel.
Frank was hurled back from the window by the force of the explosion and flung, breathless and benumbed to the floor.
But he had saved his own life and that of three other persons.
That a deliberate, desperate and dastardly attempt had been made upon the lives of Frank Merriwell and those with him in that room was certain. That all had escaped through Frank’s quick-witted and nervy action was little short of a marvel.
During the excitement and confusion that followed the explosion, ’Arry ’Awkins disappeared. When investigating parties came to search for him, he could not be found.
That the bomb was thrown into that room at all was not known save by those in the room till they told of it themselves. It was believed at first that the bomb had been purposely exploded in the street.
When Frank leaped to the window with the deadly thing in his hand he saw a man running away as fast as his legs could carry him. No more than a fleeting glimpse did the boy obtain of the man, who turned his head to look over his shoulder just as he darted around a corner.
When it was all over, Frank thought of this man.
“He threw the bomb,” was the lad’s immediate decision.
Then he tried to remember just how this man had looked, and he fancied he would know the fellow if he should see him again.
Mr. Burrage was prostrated by the excitement, but he weakly expressed his admiration for the boy who had saved their lives by his quick and daring action.
Inza, brave little girl, did her best to soothe her agitated parent, but when she would have begged Frank to remain with them a little while she found the boy was gone.
Frank’s first thought was to pursue the man he had seen running away, but when he reached the corner beyond which the fellow had vanished he saw how useless it would be to look for the rascal.
A crowd of excited persons had gathered in the street, and the police came in a deliberate hurry, after the manner of London officers.
Frank returned to Inza and her father.
“Oh, you brave, noble fellow!” cried the girl, hugging him, impulsively. “You saved us from being killed!”
“It is true,” said Mr. Burrage, faintly. “It was a wonderfully brave action. But why was that bomb thrown in here?”
“That is a question I cannot answer,” confessed the boy; “but I mean to know. You have no enemies in London who would attempt to kill you?”
“None in all the world that I know.”
“Then it must be that the attempt was made to destroy me.”
“But why should such a terrible thing be done?”
“That is a mystery. Several mysterious things have happened of late, and I will know the meaning of them before I leave London.”
“Have you enemies, Frank?”
“I should say so; but I did not know that any of them were in this city. Wherever I have gone I have made enemies. It seems to be my fate to make bitter enemies or firm friends of everybody I meet. At school it was thus, and it has been the same since I left school. In South America, Africa, France and Spain I made enemies who would not have hesitated at anything to injure or destroy me. And now they seem to be thicker than ever here in London.”
“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza, “you will be killed some time. I know you will!”
“My enemies have made so many failures that I am encouraged to think myself almost invulnerable.”
“You are brave and you are fortunate, but you cannot always escape. Some time they will get the best of you.”
“That will be when my ‘time’ has arrived. You see I have become a fatalist. I do not believe anybody will die till their ‘time’ comes.”
“It is very nice to believe that—if you can,” said the invalid; “but I cannot accept such a belief. What will you do about this dastardly attempt at murder?”
“I shall tell all I know to the police; but I doubt if they will be able to accomplish anything. In the dynamite outrages, years ago, they were quite impotent. It may be that those outrages are to be resumed. And it is possible that I have incurred the enmity of the scoundrels who are in the business by my discovery of the infernal machine in the House of Parliament.”
Neither Mr. Burrage nor Inza had heard of this, and so he told them all about it. Then the police came to investigate, and were told exactly what had happened.
Had it been in the United States, a dozen reporters would have been on hand by that time; but Frank saw no reporters for at least an hour.
Frank could not suspect ’Arry ’Awkins of being connected in any way with the person who threw the bomb, for the man from Deptford had been placed in deadly peril by the thing.
It seemed that Mr. ’Awkins had been badly frightened, and had improved the opportunity to get away without delay.
When Frank returned to his rooms that evening he was able to tell Professor Scotch a yarn that threw the little man into a state of great consternation.
“This settles it!” he declared. “We’ll leave London immediately.”
“Not on your life!” returned the boy, emphatically. “Think I am going to run away without knowing what all this racket means? Not much!”
“It is suicidal to remain!” shouted the professor. “I shall force you to go!”
“You will have a jolly time doing it.”
“This is outrageous! I suppose you would insist on remaining here if you knew you would be blown up!”
“Not quite. Let’s sit down and talk this matter over sensibly. Come now. I want to explain why I am not going to be driven away.”
After a time, the boy induced Scotch to sit down and listen. He then explained that in case such determined and desperate efforts had been made against his life, it was not likely he could escape his enemies simply by leaving London. They did not seem to be the kind of enemies who would be baffled so easily; but they would follow, and they might find a much better and safer place for them to do their terrible design than in the heart of crowded London.
The professor advised slipping out of London secretly and in disguise, if necessary; but Frank ridiculed such a thing, saying it might throw the suspicions of the police upon them.
“And you know I have been watched by the police for some time. It is likely they are still keeping me under surveillance, and they might arrest us both as suspicious characters if we tried to skip in disguise. It won’t do, professor.”
The professor groaned.
“Between the police and bomb-throwers, we are in a decidedly pleasant predicament,” he said, huskily.
And so it came about that they remained in London.
For two days after the explosion nothing of importance occurred.
Frank visited Mr. Burrage and Inza both days. Once he strolled with her in Kensington Gardens, and they spent a pleasant afternoon together.
London by night had a fascination for Frank. Although it was seldom he could induce the professor to accompany him, he often rode or strolled about the city.
With his usual fearlessness, Frank resolved to visit the East End, even though he had been warned not to do so, and the professor had ordered him to keep away.
The region of the Whitechapel murders had a strong fascination for Frank. Once he visited the section by day, and he was astonished and appalled by the degradation and dirt he saw there. The alleys were dark and filthy, and squalor reigned supreme.
But Frank was determined to see the quarter by night, and on the Saturday evening after the explosion, he dressed himself in shabby clothes, so he would not attract attention, and proceeded to the East End.
Petticoat Lane attracted him, and thither he went. He found the place divided into three thoroughfares, made by two rows of handcarts, drays, and booths arranged along each gutter.
Everything was for sale there, and there was a great crowd of wretched, ill-clothed, poverty-stamped human beings passing along the lanes between the handcarts.
The hucksters were shouting their wares and abusing each other mercilessly. They called each other cheats, robbers and jailbirds, and seemed to consider it a part of the regular order of business. They swore at each other, but they did not come to blows.
One man accused another of murdering his father in order to get the old man’s clothes to sell. At this the other laughed and cried:
“Never mind that liar hover there. ’E takes that way to get rid of his old cholera blankets what he has robbed from ’ospitals. Of course ’e sells ’em cheap; they didn’t cost him nothink. Go on an’ buy his old blankets an’ ketch the cholera.”
Frank made his way into Petticoat Lane, and then wandered into other streets. On all the well-lighted streets were cars lighted by oil lamps, and hucksters trying to sell their goods.
The laborers, having been paid off, were out in force, and it seemed that they had been drinking to a man. Some were noisy and merry, while some were sullen and bent on fighting.
The public houses were open on all sides, blazing with gas and glittering with mirrors and filled with drinking men and women. Frank could never accustom himself to the bold abandon with which women walked into groggeries and took their drinks with the men.
Sausages and fish were cooking in the small fish houses, where the great wide front windows were open, allowing to escape rays of smoky light and the odor of burning fat.
He saw stout, respectable workingmen’s wives, with great baskets on their arms, who were out to do their shopping at the markets and stores.
He saw trembling, drink-besotted hags and starving, wild-eyed young men, the faces of the latter often marked by the most hideous of evil purposes, murder in their eyes.
It was a place full of flaring lights and inky shadows, and the boy felt that he could never forget what he saw there. The faces of the starving youths made the deepest impression on him, and he wondered if there were such faces to be seen elsewhere in the world. They were hopeless, brutal, despairing.
He saw dockers and drunken sailors, and he saw thin-limbed, dirty children with the faces of old men and women.
At last, sick at heart, Frank decided that he had seen enough. He turned his face toward the West End.
But he had not gone far before he halted suddenly, with a muttered exclamation.
He looked fairly into the face of a man who was passing, and he fancied he had seen that face before.
“I believe it is the fellow who threw the bomb!” exclaimed the boy, softly.
And he started to follow the man.