This sort of talk had become far too sentimental to suit Merry, and he was relieved when the waiter brought their orders. Over the oysters and soup he chatted as brightly as he could, seeking to divert her mind, but though she smiled at his bright sayings and jokes, he could see she was still thinking of other things. Giving up trying to amuse her that way, he suddenly asked:

“Miss Dugan, do you mind telling me how you happened to be here in New York? I do not wish to seem inquisitive, but——”

“Perhaps you hadn’t better ask,” she said.

“Of course you need not tell, but it seems strange that you are so far from Maine. Are you alone in the city?”

“At present—yes.”

“You came here alone?”

“Yes.”

“When will you return to Maine?”

“Never, I hope!” she almost fiercely exclaimed. “Why should I go back there? My father is dead, and I have no home now. Back there I am still known as the daughter of old Dugan, the smuggler. Here I am not known at all. I can be anything I please.”

Even as she said this a look of anxiety came to her face, and she added:

“That is, I might be if poor Tom Stevens had not somehow traced me here.”

“Tom Stevens?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“I fear he is a lunatic.”

“Do you mean the man who attacked me on Broadway this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“What is the matter with him? Who is he? and where did he come from?”

“He was a schoolmaster in the town of Danforth, up in Maine.”

“You knew him well?”

“Yes, I met him in Danforth. He fell in love with me. I never gave him encouragement, Mr. Merriwell. That is, I never encouraged him after I found how crazy he was about me. I am afraid I smiled on him a little at first, and flirted with him, thinking I was doing no harm. But I soon found out that I had made a mistake, for he began to write to me, and his letters were full of love. I answered one of them, and told him frankly that I did not care for him, but that seemed to make him all the more determined to have me.

“He dared my father’s wrath and came to the island to see me. He tried to plead with me, but I told him plainly I could never be anything to him save a friend. Even then he would not give me up, and he swore to win me. After that he haunted the lake, having given up his school. In the fall some Boston sportsmen came down and camped in the woods on the mainland opposite the island. Father acted as guide for them, and they came to the cabin. I played for them on the piano, and they sang the latest songs. They were afraid of father, and not one of them ventured to be impolite or familiar, but Tom Stevens became insanely jealous, and he actually attacked two of them one day.

“For all that they were two to his one, he gave them a severe beating and vowed he would kill them if they did not go away immediately. They considered him a madman, and they did not stay much longer. I think he always believed I had met them in Boston while taking music-lessons, and invited them to come down and see me. After that Tom was worse than ever, roaming the woods day after day with his gun. I saw him often standing on some point of the mainland and watching the island, and I became afraid of him. Father swore he would shoot the poor fellow, but I made him promise not to do him harm. Now you understand all about Tom Stevens.”

Frank nodded.

“And I think you are right in fancying him daffy, Miss Dugan. He must believe me one of the Boston sportsmen, and he is determined to kill me.”

Then he told her all about his two encounters with Stevens on Brooklyn Bridge.

“He’s surely crazy as a loon!” she exclaimed. “You must be on your guard, Frank—Mr. Merriwell. Don’t let him harm you. Have him locked up.”

“I may do so more for your sake than for my own, as he must annoy you greatly.”

“He has frightened me once or twice. I was frightened to-day when he flew at you on Broadway. When I saw you had struck him down, I hastened away.”

“Yes, you ran away from me. That was strange. I do not think I understand your action even now.”

“Perhaps I do not quite understand it myself. I have tried to explain why I did not speak in the first place.”

“But you have not been entirely frank with me, Miss Dugan,” he asserted. “You have not told me everything. I know you have a right to be reserved, but I am your friend, and you say you are alone in this great city. You must need a protector. You have not told me how you happened to come here, or if you are seeking work. You say your father left you no money. What can you do here?”

Frank was astounded to see her dark eyes fill with tears.

“I am going to explain just why I am in New York and how I came to be here. I told you that father persisted to the last in trying to force me to marry that man Jones, and I also told you that I suspected my father left money which fell into the hands of Jones. After father died that man——”

She stopped with a little gasp, her face turned very pale, and she sat rigid in her chair, staring with fear-filled eyes at a man who was advancing hastily across the room toward the table.

That man was—Jones!

Frank recognized the fellow at once as the smug-faced rascal whom he had first seen in the guise of a country parson in company with Hilda Dugan on the little lake steamer far away in Maine.

There was a look of triumph and exultation on the face of the man, whose eyes were fastened upon Hilda Dugan as he rapidly approached the table. She shrank back and seemed about to utter a cry of fear, which, however, she repressed.

Merry started to rise quickly and step between her and Jones, but she caught him by the arm, whispering:

“Sit still! He has found me, but he will not dare touch me. Don’t make a scene, please!”

Scenes were quite as offensive to Merry as they could be to her, and so he remained seated, though on the alert and ready to defend her instantly if necessary.

Jones, dressed from head to heels in black, came up to the table and stopped, never taking his eyes off the girl.

“So I have found you at last, have I, Miss Dugan?” he said in a low tone, as he coolly sat down at the table. “A nice trick you played me, but it was foolish of you to think you could lose me so easily.”

“Pardon me, sir,” said Frank, “I will not permit you to address a lady in my company in such an insulting manner. If you do not retire at once and cease to annoy her, I’ll call an officer, and have you arrested.”

Jones actually smiled.

“I hardly think you will,” he said sneeringly.

Frank longed to knock him down.

“I swear I will!” he said, ready to keep his word.

“If you do,” said Jones easily, “she will spend to-night in a cell.”

The girl shuddered, and shrank away. Merry was startled and set back, all at once struck by the fear that this girl had done something criminal, else how dared the man speak in such a manner.

“If she has,” thought Frank, “she will stop me.” And he turned as if to call a waiter and ask for an officer.

Again Hilda clutched his arm, panting:

“Please don’t do it. It will do no good!”

Jones stood by, triumphant, smiling, sneering.

“Why don’t you call an officer, sir?” he asked.

“I ought to, you miserable whelp!” muttered Merry, baffled. “I ought to call one and demand that you be arrested for an attempt to murder me in the Maine woods three years ago.”

This gave the man a start, and he stared at Merry in astonishment.

“You?” he said. “Why, who the dickens are you? Hanged if I don’t believe you are the chap Dugan planned to blow up with powder! Yes, you are!”

“Right! And you are the miserable dog who aided him in that little piece of work. I am very sorry we met here. Had it been elsewhere, it would have given me great satisfaction to thrash you till you begged like a cur at my feet!”

Jones showed his teeth.

“That might not prove such an easy thing to do,” he snarled, in a low tone. “So she fled to you, did she? And I suppose she is blowing you to this feed off the boodle? Well, I’ve found her, and now she’ll have to give it up! I’ve fooled with her for the last time. If she won’t marry me, she can go; but first she must give me my doll.”

Frank wondered if he had understood correctly. What could the man want of a doll? Was it slang of some sort?

The girl sat staring at Jones, as if in doubt about what she would do. Frank longed to aid her in some way, but her fears had made him hesitate about moving.

“Where is it?” hissed Jones, fixing her with his eyes. “Give it to me! If you do that I’ll leave you and trouble you no more. I shall be glad to get rid of you, for you cannot be trusted.”

She leaned forward.

“You deceived me—or tried to,” she declared accusingly. “You told me there were nothing but private papers hidden in her.”

“So you have investigated?” he returned. “I knew it! It belongs to me—every bit of it!”

“I do not believe it.”

“I swear it does!”

“Even so, you are a criminal whom I might turn over to the officers.”

“And you would turn yourself over to them at the same time, for you are my accomplice.”

This talk was very puzzling to Merriwell, who wondered what it could all be about.

“We are attracting attention,” said the girl. “Go away. I will meet you to-morrow at ten o’clock.”

“Don’t think me such a fool! I’ll never leave you again for a single moment till that doll is in my hands.”

The girl’s dark eyes flashed.

“You may have to,” she said.

“Oh, not much! You can’t slip me, for I know you now, and I’ll never trust you again.”

She began to tap her foot, while he stood there, cool and triumphant, grinning down upon her.

“Where is the money my father left?” she demanded, still in a repressed voice, in order not to attract attention. “When you give me that you shall have your old doll and its contents.”

“He left nothing.”

“I know better!”

“Very well. It is folly to argue with a woman who has made up her mind in advance. I will not contradict you.”

“I want that money.”

“I have no objections; want it as much as you like.”

“You knew where it was hidden.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“That is news to me.”

“While he was alive you dared not touch it, for you knew he would hunt you down and kill you if you did. He had confidence in you, and so when he died he left you to turn the money over to me. Not one dollar of it have you ever given me.”

“You have been dreaming dreams. But, perhaps, if you obeyed your father and married me some of your dreams would have come true.”

“That’s enough!” she said. “That is a confession that there was money! You shall not rob me! When you give it to me you shall have your doll.”

He remained calm and self-confident.

“It is not a confession. There was no money, but I might have given you some of my own, for I did care for you once, till I discovered how treacherous you could be.”

Frank felt more than ever like shaking the man, but was forced to remain quiet and listen to his insolence.

“Don’t talk to me of treachery!” breathed the girl, her face crimson once more. “Why, I have understood you from the first, and I knew you for just what you are—a two-faced scoundrel and a craven! You fawned at the feet of my father, tempted many times to rob him of his ill-gotten gains, yet prevented from doing so by the picture of him upon your track, gun in hand. When he died, your fears ended, and you did not hesitate to break your oath to him and rob his child. You are a scoundrel all the way through! There is not one manly streak in you!”

Still she had kept her voice down, but now Frank had observed that the manner of the speakers and their earnest tones were causing curious eyes to be turned in that direction. Had the restaurant been well filled such a conversation must have been impossible without others to overhear it.

Jones laughed shortly.

“More of your dreams, young woman. It is useless to argue. All I want is my property, and then I will leave you to this gallant youth, of whom you have raved ever since the day he jumped into the water for you on Grand Lake. Perhaps he will marry you, as you have hoped, but I have my doubts.”

It was with the greatest difficulty that Merry refrained from leaping up and knocking the wretch down at once.

“If the opportunity comes,” said Frank, looking Jones in the face, “I shall make you beg the lady’s pardon for your insults.”

Jones made a motion as if to snap his fingers, but refrained from doing so.

“Better not try it when the opportunity comes,” he advised. “You know the occupation in which I have been engaged for some years, and it has been my habit to carry a gun or knife where it will always be easy to draw. I promise you to return your blows with bullets or cold steel.”

“The threat of a coward!” said Frank. “But I am looking for the opportunity just the same. If you pull a pistol or knife on me, it will give me all the better excuse to thrash you within an inch of your life.”

Now, Merriwell knew Hilda Dugan must have talked of him often. Frank also knew she had entertained wild hopes of meeting him again, and this sneering creature beside the table had betrayed that she must have sometimes told him she would never marry anybody but a youth like the Yale man.

Hilda was covered with mortification, knowing full well that Merry must understand—must comprehend the secret love she had carried in her heart ever since that day on Grand Lake three years before.

“Let’s go!” she entreated, beginning to tremble all over. “I am afraid I cannot stand it longer. I shall make a scene of some sort.”

“And the dinner is spoiled already,” said Merry, motioning to a waiter. “We’ll go.”

“And I’ll go with you!” muttered Jones.

Merry paid the check, assisted Hilda to don her coat, quietly tipped the waiter who aided him into his, and turned with the girl to leave the restaurant.

Curious eyes followed them as they passed out.

Jones was at their heels.