Frank Merriwell's Bravery Part 66

"Why is that?"

"It is my duty. I have such instructions. You are getting off easy at that."

"But I shall not recover my hundred dollars."

"No; that is lost. Let me tell you something: There is a band of queer-makers somewhere in this vicinity. They do not attempt to run their stuff into circulation around here; the most of it is put out in Chicago. But they have been traced to this part of the country.

Detectives are at work on the case--Secret Service men, in the employ of the government. Who these detectives are no one can say, although it has been reported that Dan Drake is in it. Up to this time they have been putting out tens and twenties. This fifty must be a new bit of work. And I have something more to tell you. It is said that the queen of this gang of counterfeiters is a beautiful young girl, who does not look to be more than seventeen years of age. It is possible----"

But he made a gesture of anger, because such a thing should be thought for a moment.

"It is not possible!" he said, sharply. "She is innocent of such a thing as that! You cannot make me believe----"

He stopped, noting that the look of scorn on the face of the receiving teller was deepening. Then, slowly and surely, the thought that the girl had deceived him, that she was not as innocent as she looked, came upon him. The mystery that surrounded her deepened, and a sudden longing to know the truth grasped him.

The receiving teller laughed shortly, as he saw the changes which flitted across the lad's face.

"There's guilt for you!" he muttered.

Frank stiffened up, giving the man a cutting look.

"What became of this girl for whom you changed two fifty-dollar bills?"

asked the cashier.

"I do not remember what became of her," declared Frank. "She was a pa.s.senger on the Pacific Express. I left the express at Reno."

"And she went on? Bound for 'Frisco, it is likely."

Frank had not said she went on. He explained that he met a friend at Reno, and that was how he happened to leave the express; that friend was coming to Carson, and that was how he happened to come to Carson.

He did not tell that they had followed the girl to Carson, had shadowed her to the house where she had stopped, and that his companion or himself had watched that house constantly, ever since.

"Bart is watching it now," he told himself. "She can't get away. She must explain to me how that bogus money came into her possession. I believe I know! The man with the black mustache must have given it to her!"

That the man with the sinister mustache was a villain he did not doubt, but he still doubted that the girl was anything but what she seemed--young, innocent, incapable of crime.

The cashier spoke a low word to one of his companions, and a sudden fear came upon Frank. Was the man ordering his arrest? He could not afford to be detained and bothered at that time. How would he solve the mystery if they placed him under arrest?

But Frank had nerve, and he would not take to his heels, knowing such an act would make it seem certain that he was guilty.

The receiving teller spoke sharply to the cashier, seemingly urging him to some action; but the boy heard the cashier reply:

"It will spoil the whole thing to be too hasty."

"The boy can be made to peach on the gang," said the teller, in a guarded tone.

"That's folly!" declared the cashier, shortly. "The boy is not connected with the gang. Think they would send him here--to a bank--if he were! Have a little sense, Burton!"

The teller mumbled, looking sullen and rebuffed, while Frank felt relieved.

Then the cashier once more questioned Frank, as a lawyer might question a witness. He tried, in various ways, to entrap the boy, but Frank made no blunders.

After a time, the cashier seemed satisfied.

"I am sorry for you," he said. "You have lost a hundred dollars, but you are fortunate to escape arrest and imprisonment."

"I suppose I am," admitted Frank; "and I will tell you something, now; I propose to solve the mystery of this money. I am going to find that girl, I am going to find out how she came to have the bogus stuff, and I am going to bring this band of queer-makers to book, if possible."

The receiving teller laughed scornfully.

"A fine bluff!" he muttered.

The cashier gave him a crushing glance.

"You have undertaken a big job, my boy," said the latter. "I hardly think you will be able to carry it out when government detectives are bothered."

"I'll do my best."

"And you'll be pretty sure to get into further trouble."

"I may, but I am lucky about getting out of trouble."

"Yes, you are dead lucky," muttered the receiving teller.

The cashier gave Frank some outspoken advice, and then told the boy he might go.

Frank left the private office and walked out of the bank. There was a look of determination on his face.

"I don't fancy being beaten out of a hundred dollars," he said to himself. "It's not the money so much; but if that girl knew--if she played me----"

He stopped short, anger and disgust expressed on his face. His pride was touched. He did not like to think that he had been thus deceived.

"I am going to know!" he vowed. "I am going to know the truth!"

He walked away, his head down, thinking. He was trying to form a plan of action. Within a short time the mystery that surrounded the beautiful girl with two names had deepened. He must find a way to learn the truth; he would not be satisfied till he knew the truth.

For some time he walked along, paying little heed to his surroundings, and then, all at once, a thought came to him:

"I am followed!"

He was confident of it. He did not look back, but he seemed to see the shadower on his trail. They were determined to know at the bank if he had told the truth, and a detective had been detailed to keep watch of him.

Frank loitered along, looking into windows. He betrayed no uneasiness.

At last he came to a restaurant. Into this he wandered, proceeding to a table at the farther end. Here he sat and gave his order.

The boy had taken a seat where he could watch the front door. In a short time a small man entered quietly, walked straight to a table, sat down, without glancing round, having hung his hat close at hand, and looked over the bill of fare.

"You are the shadower," decided Frank. "I wonder how I can give you the slip?"