BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated) - Burt L. Standish

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time she broke away in earnest.

      "Good-night, sir," she called, from up the walk.

      "Oh, wait a moment!" he implored. "You aren't going to leave me like this?"

      "Oh, but I am."

      "How can you!"

      "You are getting altogether too free."

      She seemed really angry, and a feeling of dismay came over the lad at the gate.

      "Inza!"

      She had paused

      "Well, sir?"

      "Don't go away angry, please! I know I had no right to steal those kisses, but I am willing to make amends."

      "Oh, you are!" she said, wonderingly, and it seemed to Frank that she was struggling to keep back a burst of laughter. "How will you do it?"

      "If you'll come here, I will give them back to you."

      That was a master-stroke. A soft laugh came from her lips, and she returned:

      "You are a saucy, cheeky fellow, and I am not coming back. Good-night."

      "You are not angry?"

      "What's the use to be angry with you!"

      "Good-night, Inza."

      "Good-night, Frank."

      As he turned away down the walk, he saw her pause at the door and heard her softly call:

      "Frank."

      "Yes?"

      "I don't like to think of you as a thief. I will take those kisses back some other time."

      Then, with another ripple of laughter, she disappeared into the house.

      Frank's heart was very light as he walked airily down the street. He had forgotten the man in black for the time, and he whistled a lively air, thinking of the charming girl he had left a few moments before.

      It had now grown quite dark, for the moon had not yet risen; but there was a spring-time sweetness in the air, which was not yet enervated by the languorous heat of summer.

      Frank passed beyond the limits of the village, where lights were twinkling from the windows of the houses, and he swung down the road toward the cove at a lively gait, still whistling.

      At a certain point the road was lined with bushes, and not far away was the village cemetery.

      Frank had reached this lonely locality, when, of a sudden, a feeling of uneasiness came over him. Somehow it seemed that he was in danger.

      Then came a rustle in the bushes, and, the following moment, a dark form confronted the lad, blocking his path.

      Frank recoiled, and through his mind flashed the thought:

      "It is the man in black!"

      At the same moment, the unknown sprang forward and clutched the lad, snarling:

      "Give me that ring! I will have it! Give it up peaceably, or I will choke the breath out of your body! Don't shout! It will be the worse for you if you do!"

      Right there and then the man in black met with a great surprise.

      Frank grappled with the stranger, and, for some moments, they engaged in a fierce struggle. At length the boy got the best of it, and, as he threw the man, he gave his assailant a terrible upper-cut blow.

      Having freed himself Frank took to his heels and ran down the road toward the academy.

      CHAPTER XXVIII.

       THE MARKS ON THE BLACK STONE.

       Table of Contents

      Frank fancied he heard pursuing footsteps behind him, but the mysterious man might have spared himself the effort if he tried to overtake the lad, for Merriwell almost flew over the ground.

      The lights from the windows of the barracks soon appeared through the trees, and Frank felt relieved when he was safely within the grounds with the academy buildings looming before him.

      A short time later he entered his own room in the "Cock-loft," to find Bartley Hodge sitting with his feet on the table, smoking a cigarette and perusing an exciting detective story; but the feet went down to the floor like a flash, and the cigarette and book disappeared with magical swiftness as Frank came in.

      "Oh!" said Hodge, with a sigh of relief; "it's you, is it, Merriwell? I thought it might be an inspector."

      Frank laughed.

      "It would have been rather bad for you if I had been an inspector, for you did not get that book and cigarette out of sight quick enough to fool anybody, and the air is full of smoke. You would have stood a good chance for chevrons next month if you had let cigarettes and novels alone and taken a little more care to avoid demerit."

      "Never mind, old man," said Hodge, as he resumed the cigarette and brought forth the detective story again.

      "You'll be a corporal sure, and that is glory enough for us. Don't preach. If you should start in on this yarn, you wouldn't give it up till you finished it."

      "And that is exactly why I am not going to start in. I enjoy a good story as well as you do, but I cannot afford to read novels, now, and so I refuse to be tempted into looking into any of them."

      "This is a hummer," declared Bart, enthusiastically. "It is full of mystery and murder and all that. Beagle Ben, the detective, is a corker! That fellow can look a man over and tell what he had for dinner by the expression around the corners of his mouth. He sees through a crook as easily as you can look through a plate-glass window. And the mysteries in this story are enough to give a fellow the nightmare. I wonder why such mysterious things never happen in real life?"

      "Perhaps they do occasionally."

      The way Frank spoke the words caused Bart to turn and look him over wonderingly.

      "Hello!" he said. "What's struck you? You are breathing as if you had been running, but you're rather pale round the gills."

      "I have had an adventure."

      "You are always having adventures. You're the luckiest fellow alive."

      "This adventure is somewhat out of the usual order," declared Frank. "It might furnish material for a detective story."

      "Whew!" whistled the dark-haired lad. "Now you are making me curious. Reel it off for us."

      Then Frank sat down and told Hodge the full particulars of his adventure with the mysterious man in black.

      A look of wonder and delight grew on Bart's face as he listened, and, when the account was finished, he slapped his thigh, crying:

      "By Jove, Merriwell, this is great! Why, such things do actually happen, don't they! Why do you suppose that man is so determined to obtain possession of that ugly old ring? Do you actually believe he is a collector of rings, with a mania for the quaint and curious?"

      "It is possible, but, for some reason, I doubt it."

      "So do I."

      "He did not seem quite sincere in his manner of telling that story, and he was altogether too desperate in his determination to obtain the ring."

      "That's right."

      "Besides that, he wished to know how it came into my possession, and, when he learned my father's name, he declared he had never heard it before."

      "What do you make out of that?"

      "Well, it strikes me that this man recognized the ring as one he had seen before."

      Bart nodded with satisfaction.

      "Just the way I figured it out, old man!"

      "He did not seem so anxious to

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