LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER XXV.

       THE SINISTER STRANGER.

       Table of Contents

      "Boy, where did you get that ring?"

      Frank Merriwell started and looked quickly at the man who had hoarsely hissed the question in his ear. At a glance he saw that the man was a stranger in Fardale village.

      The stranger was dressed in black clothes, wore a cloak, with a cape, and had the brim of his hat slouched over his eyes, which were coal-black and piercing. He had a heavy black mustache and imperial, which gave him a rather savage expression, and, withal, he made a somewhat sinister figure.

      The night mail at Fardale was not delivered at the academy till the following morning, and Frank had come to the village post office late that afternoon to obtain an expected letter from home, if it had arrived.

      He had also hoped that, on his way to the post office, or in returning to the academy, he might catch a glimpse of Inza. Frank was now a welcome visitor at Inza's home, but, being governed by natural tact and delicacy, he did not wish to call too frequently, fearing Inza's parents might regard him as something of a bore.

      Shortly after entering the village he had noticed the stranger in black, who seemed to be staring wonderingly at the boy. To Frank's surprise, this man followed him about.

      Finally the stranger slipped softly to Frank's side, and hoarsely whispered the question with which this chapter opens. At the same time, he pointed to a peculiar ring which Merriwell wore on the third finger of his left hand.

      Frank drew back, looking the man over from head to feet.

      "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, in a manner that was intended to repulse further advances.

      But the man was not to be choked off thus easily.

      "The ring," he repeated. "I asked you where you obtained it."

      "I know you did," said the boy, coolly.

      "Answer me!" sibilated the stranger, his brows darkening beneath the wide brim of the hat, and a gleam of fire showing in his eyes. "Tell me the truth, boy!"

      "I don't know why I should answer you," said Frank. "I do not know you, and I do not understand what right you have to ask me such a question."

      The man in black bit his lip, and hesitated. After a moment, he forced a smile that was far from agreeable to see, although he plainly meant that it should reassure the boy, and, in a low tone, he rapidly said:

      "That ring is very odd, and it attracted my attention for that reason. I am a great collector of curios, and especially of quaint and curious rings. I have traveled the world over in search of the quaint and curious, and I have a collection of nearly five hundred rings of all patterns, makes and values. This collecting of rings has become a fad, or mania, with me. Whenever I see an odd or peculiar ring, I am immediately seized by a great desire to possess it; but I always want to know its history. It enhances the value of a ring to know its history. I assure you that some rings have very queer histories, indeed."

      Frank watched the man closely as he was speaking, and, although it was plain that the stranger was trying to secure the boy's confidence, Merriwell continued to regard him with suspicion and aversion. There was something about this person's dark face and sinister aspect that was extremely repulsive to the lad.

      Once more the man smiled, as if making a desperate attempt to thaw the cool reserve of the boy; but he had begun in a very poor way, for Frank remained cold and distant.

      "Some of my rings," went on the man in black, "have tales of bloodshed and murder connected with them, and these are interesting in their way. Some recall romances of blighted love or sundered hearts, and these tales are always interesting to the ladies who look over the collection. Some have been worn by great men or great ladies, and some have encircled the fingers of great villains or great criminals. You should understand why I desire to know the history of every ring that comes into my possession."

      "Well," said Frank, quietly, "as there is not the slightest possibility that you will ever possess this ring, you can have very little interest in its history."

      The stranger fell back a step, and then, with one hand eagerly outstretched, he exclaimed:

      "You will sell it for a good price—of course you will?"

      "No."

      "Why, its real value is insignificant!"

      "It is valuable to me."

      "No jeweler will give you more than three or four dollars for it—possibly five."

      "Well?"

      "I will give you ten dollars for that ring."

      "It is useless for you to offer me money for it, as I do not intend to sell it."

      Frank turned as if he would move away, but he felt a hand clutch his shoulder with a grasp of iron, while the voice of the stranger almost snarled:

      "Don't be a fool, boy! I want that ring, and I mean to have it at some price. I will give you twenty-five dollars for it."

      "Take your hand off my shoulder, sir!"

      "I'll give you thirty dollars."

      "Take your hand off my shoulder, sir!"

      "Forty dollars!"

      "I have warned you twice to take your hand off my shoulder," came coldly from the lips of the boy, on whose face there was now a dangerous look. "I am going to warn you again, and if you do not obey, it will be the worse for you. Take your hand off my shoulder!"

      There was a single moment of hesitation,

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