From a handsome residence on High Street, Belfast, came the sounds of music, singing and merry laughter. From top to bottom the house was brightly illuminated, and the sounds from within told that it was overflowing with light-hearted young people.

Mabel Mitshef, or “Mischief,” as she was almost universally called, was giving her party, and Frank Merriwell and his friends, Hodge, Diamond, Browning and Dunnerwust, were invited guests.

Leaving out Hans, Frank’s party formed a fine quartet, and their singing of college songs had been received with great applause. “Solomon Levi,” “Bingo,” “Stars of the Summer Night,” all the old favorites came in turn, and still the cry was for more.

Browning gave up from sheer exhaustion.

“It’s no use,” he said; “I’m not in training. Can’t keep it up, you know. I beg you to excuse me.”

Then, being urged, Frank sang one of the late popular songs, Jack accompanying him on the piano. Never had he sung better, and never had those present heard anything that pleased them more. There was a great burst of applause when he finished.

“Beautiful!” murmured Hattie Hazle, a handsome, dark-eyed girl. “I don’t wonder all the girls fall in love with Mr. Merriwell, for he does everything divinely! His singing is enough to make anyone adore him.”

“I don’d pelief you nefer heardt me sung,” said Hans, who sat near her. “Oh, you haf missed der dreat uf my life! I vos a pird!”

“Why, Mr. Dunnerwust,” cried Hattie, a twinkle in her eyes, “I am just perfectly crazy to hear you sing! I’ve been wanting to ask you, but didn’t dare, you know. Won’t you sing us a solo?”

“If he does, I hope he will sing it so low I can’t hear it,” muttered Browning. “I’ve heard him sing. The toothache is delirious delight compared to his singing.”

“Vale,” said Hans, with assumed modesty, “I don’d put meinseluf vorwart as no brimer donners, but I can vawble in a vay dot vill surbrise you.”

“That’s a fact,” nodded Bruce. “Everybody secure a supply of cotton before he begins. You will need it to stop your ears.”

“Vot vos dot?” demanded the Dutch boy, angrily. “You vos shelus, dot’s vot’s der madder you mit! You knew I vos goin’ to took der shine off vrom your sunging, und you don’d vant me to done dot. Vale, Misder Prowning, you don’d run der vorld!”

“Oh, don’t mind him, Mr. Dunnerwust,” said Hattie. “I am sure we are all very anxious to hear you sing.”

“Yes, indeed!” cried several other girls, taking the cue from Hattie and crowding about Hans. “Please sing, Mr. Dunnerwust.”

“Vale,” said Hans, smiling and putting his hand over his face in a manner meant to express great embarrassment, “it vill gif you great bleasure—no, I mean it vill gif me great bleasure to sung to der laties. I nefer could resist der laties.”

He arose and bowed, with his hand on his heart.

“Oh, how charming!” cried several of the girls, who had been given the tip by Merriwell early in the evening to have sport with the Dutch boy. “Do sing, Mr. Dunnerwust!”

“Before you begin, Hans,” laughed Frank, “you had better make sure no one in the room has a gun.”

“Coot cracious!” gurgled the Dutch boy, staring at Frank. “Vos you shelus, too? I didn’d oxbect dot vrom you, Vrankie. Py Chorch! This vos a surbrise vor you!”

“It will be a surprise for a great many when you begin to sing,” sighed the big Yale man.

“Mister Prowning, your remarks vos oxceeding der blace out uf. Laties, vot shall I sung to you?”

“Oh, anything!” cried Hattie. “Make your own selection.”

“I nefer sing any dose common songs uf. Der oldt songs vos goot enough me vor, such as, ‘Holdt der Vort Up,’ ‘Bull der Shore Vor,’ ‘Vait Till der Glouts Roll Pie, Shenny,’ ‘Der Oldt Oaken Pocket,’ und such as dose.”

“Oh, do sing ‘The Old Oaken Bucket,’” urged Hattie.

“Yes, do!” cried the others.

“Vale, I ain’d sung dot some dime vor, but id peen my vavorite song. I vill gif him to you, laties.”

“Who will accompany you?”

“I don’d needed nottings dot kindt uf. I can done my own accombanying. Shust kept sdill now, und I vill wable.”

Then Hans took a position in the middle of the room, threw his chest out and his head back, opened his mouth and let out some very remarkable sounds. This is his version of “The Old Oaken Bucket” as he gave it:

By the time he got that far the entire gathering was convulsed with laughter. As he had been singing with his eyes closed, he had not seen them laughing, but now he opened his eyes and caught his breath in preparation for starting in on the next verse.

He did not start. The shout of laughter that went up made him stagger and gasp.

He stared around blankly, and then he looked disgusted.

“Py Chorch!” he muttered, “I pelief they vos laughin’ me at!”

In high indignation he stalked to his seat, and dropped down heavily, dragging a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopping the perspiration off his face.

Frank was laughing as heartily as anyone. Even Jack Diamond was smiling.

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried Hattie Hazle, with her handkerchief over her face.

“Vale,” said Hans, sadly, “I nefer oxbected you vould laugh me at, Miss Hazles!”

“Oh! oh! oh!” gasped Hattie. “I’m—not—laughing.”

“Vot?”

“No.”

“Vot you vos doin’?”

“I—I’m—crying!” she shrieked, with another outburst.

“Dot vos vunny! Vot you vos gryin’ vor?”

“Oh! oh! Because—because I am so—so affected—by—your—singing!”

She managed to utter the words, and then she fell over into the arms of a girl friend and went into another paroxysm.

Hans was in doubt. Somehow it did not seem to him that she was weeping, but she had said so, and he concluded that it might be her way of shedding tears.

“Vot you thinks uf dot, Misder Pruce Prowning?” he demanded. “You nefer made anypody gry your singing py your whole life in.”

“That’s all right, Hans; but this matter is serious. You have broken her all up, and she is liable to have convulsions and die. If she expires, you will be responsible.”

“Shimminy Gristmas!”

“It will be a very sad affair, but you have committed murder already.”

“Vot?” squawked Hans. “Murter? Vot you meant py dot?”

“You just murdered ‘The Old Oaken Bucket’ in the most horrible manner.”

Hans gasped and gurgled, and then he grew red in the face. Leaning toward Bruce, he hoarsely hissed:

“I don’d vant to made any drouble der bresence uf der laties in, but I vill fighted you on der oudside der house uf a minute in uf you dare gone ut mit me!”

But Bruce declined to go out.

Time flew swiftly that evening. ’Mid games, charades, music, refreshments, merry chatter and merry laughter, eleven o’clock came round with amazing speed.

Just as the clock was striking eleven, Hattie Hazle came in from another room to the parlor, where most of the guests were, and hurried straight toward Frank Merriwell. She was seen to whisper something in his ear.

Frank looked surprised and doubtful, and then she appeared to urge him to do something, and he finally smiled and nodded. A moment later, he arose and left the room.

Hattie had fancied that her act was unobserved, for Hans Dunnerwust was attempting to tell a funny story, and he had snarled himself up in such a manner that everyone seemed shouting with laughter and giving their entire attention to him.

But Jack Diamond had not missed the girl’s act, and on his face there was a look of displeasure and anxiety. When Merry started to leave the room, the Virginian reached out a hand as if to stop him, but seemed to change his mind, for he let Frank go.

But Jack watched Hattie closely. He saw her join in with the merry throng and seem as light-hearted and gay as any of them. Indeed, Hattie and Mabel were leaders in their set.

Diamond did not mean to take his eyes off the dark-haired girl, but Browning came up, suppressing a yawn with an effort and said:

“I’m getting bored. When are we to make our escape?”

“Oh, very soon, I think,” said Jack. “It is getting late.”

“The party will not break up before twelve. Are we to remain and see the agony through?”

“I don’t know. Merriwell will settle——”

Diamond paused and began to look around the room, an expression of anxiety on his face.

“She’s gone!” he muttered.

“Eh?” grunted the big Yale man. “What did you say?”

“Do you see Hattie Hazle anywhere?”

“Oho!” laughed Bruce. “So that is the matter! I presume you will not go directly from here to the yacht. Miss Hazle must walk home, and you will——”

“Nothing of the sort, sir!” interrupted Diamond, flushing hotly. “I am not chasing every pretty girl I see!”

“No? Well, you are a rare bird among the rising generation.”

“Besides——”

“I know all about the little girl at Bar Harbor, but she would never know anything about your little flirtations over here.”

“That makes no difference to me,” came haughtily from Jack’s lips. “I should know about it, and my sense of honor——”

“More of your Southern notions.”

“Perhaps so, but I am rather proud of my Southern notions, Mr. Browning. That is all, sir.”

Then, apparently almost at a white heat, Diamond left the big fellow, who sat down wearily on an easy-chair, murmuring to himself:

“Queer chap, that. He drags honor into everything. He’ll not even flirt a little with a pretty girl, for he is in love with a little Boston maiden, Paula Benjamin, who is at Bar Harbor. And I don’t believe there is anything serious between them, either, for I am sure he has not proposed to her. All the same, just as long as he is in love with her, he’ll not look at another girl. I wonder if all Virginians are that way. They can’t be.”

Diamond hurried out of the room. In various parts of the house he looked for Hattie Hazle.

“If I find her,” he thought, “I will ask her where Frank has gone.”

He did not find her.

At last, Jack came hurrying back to the parlor, a troubled look on his face. He saw Hodge, and quickly drew him aside.

“Look here, Bart,” he said, speaking in a low tone and uttering the words swiftly, “something is up.”

“What? How?”

“I’ll tell you. A while ago Miss Hazle came into this room in a hurry, just as Hans was trying to tell that story. I saw her look around till her eyes fell on Frank, then she hurried to him. No one noticed her but Merry and myself. She began speaking to him in a low tone, and I caught a few of her words.”

“Go on.”

“She was urging him to do something. At first he refused, politely, but she insisted, and, after a little, he gave in. I heard him ask, ‘Where is he?’ Then she said something I did not catch, and Frank said, ‘All right, I’ll see him.’ Directly he left this room, and I do not know where he went.”

Hodge looked disappointed.

“What of that?” he asked.

“Something is up,” repeated the Virginian. “I feel it—I know it!”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t see that you heard anything to make you think so.”

“Who did Merry go to see? Everyone of our party was here in this room.”

“I don’t know whom he went to see, and I don’t know that it concerns me. Jove! I never knew you to be so curious before, Diamond. This is a new freak for you.”

Jack flushed.

“I know you think it queer,” he said, swiftly; “but something tells me Frank is in danger. I did not try to hear a word that passed between him and Miss Hazle, but I heard despite myself. I meant to watch her, but she disappeared suddenly, and I could not find her. I thought I would ask her frankly where Merry had gone.”

“Well, I think you are putting yourself to a lot of unnecessary trouble. I don’t understand why you are so disturbed over a little thing like this.”

“I believe Frank is in danger.”

“Why?”

“I have not forgotten that he has enemies in Belfast.”

“He hasn’t any—now.”

“How do you know?”

“Who could they be?”

“Walter Wallace.”

“Oh! he never was very dangerous.”

“Mart Woodock.”

“And he was simply a sort of tool for Wallace. Frank Merriwell is more than a match for those chaps, and they are nothing more than two fellows who were envious of Merry.”

“But they tried to do him up. They aided Parker Flynn in the attack upon you and Merriwell. They were on hand when Flynn struck you down with a stone and nearly split your skull.”

“And they were so frightened that they took to their heels and have not been seen in Belfast since. Oh, those chaps are not to be worried over. If Flynn were alive——”

“Who knows he is dead?”

“Where there is every evidence of his death!”

“There is no evidence of his death that amounts to anything.”

“Merry pursued him far up into the country.”

“Yes.”

“And Flynn went through a broken bridge and was drowned.”

“What proof is there of that?”

“His bicycle was found in the water under the bridge.”

“Is that proof?”

“His cap was floating in an eddy of the river, which must have carried his body down into a pond below.”

“But the body was not recovered, although a search was made for it, and, as yet, there is no absolute proof of his death.”

“If he had not been drowned, he must have been found.”

“I’m not certain of that. He is a crafty fellow, and he may have resorted to a trick to deceive Frank.”

“Why should he?”

“He was hunted, and Merriwell had practically run him down. He knew he could not escape unless he did so by strategy. The bicycle at the bottom of the river and the floating cap made it seem that he had plunged into the river. He knew, if he were not found, that the report of his death would go out. That would give him time to escape. He did not know but he was a murderer. It is probable that he believed he had killed you. He had every reason to resort to trickery, and I am inclined to believe that was his game. I do not think Parker Flynn is dead.”

“You astonish me,” said Hodge, slowly, “but you may be right. However, even though the wretch is alive, I do not fancy we need worry about him.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll not trouble us again.”

“There is where I think you make a mistake. You have not sized up Flynn correctly. That chap is a thorough desperado, and, at the same time, he is cunning.”

“Well, it’s certain he would not venture back into Belfast so soon after what has happened.”

“You think he would not dare, and I believe that is the very thing he would dare. He would reason that no one would expect him to come back here, and back here he would come. If he has returned here, he knows by this time that he did not kill you, Hodge, and once more he is dangerous, for he will try to get another crack at Frank.”

The reasoning of Diamond was beginning to impress Hodge.

“Well, I don’t see how you connect this with anything Hattie Hazle said to Frank,” he spoke.

“Hattie Hazle asked him to meet somebody, and he has gone to meet that person.”

“Well?”

“At first he refused. That showed it was no one he regarded as a friend.”

“It looks that way,” confessed Bart.

“Then he must have gone to meet an enemy. He maybe in danger. Let’s go look for him, Hodge.”

“By Jove! I will do it, Diamond. I don’t want him to think I’d spy on him, but it would be enough to make a man daffy to have Flynn come back here and get at Merry. Come on, Jack!”