Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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"I don't know. All I know is that they told me to get Mr. Merriwell in a hurry."

"Goodness!" muttered the manager. "I hope this don't mean that——"

He did not finish, and Frank followed the boy, wondering why he had been summoned by Zolverein.

The messenger was a bell boy from the hotel, and he piloted Frank up to the door of the magician's room.

Frank knocked lightly.

The door was opened at once by a tall man who wore a Vandyke beard. It was Dr. Gray.

"This is Mr. Merriwell," explained the bell boy.

"Come in," said the doctor, softly. "You are in time."

"In time!" echoed Merry, wonderingly. "In time for what?"

Then he saw another man bending over the bed, on which lay Zolverein, the great magician. One glance satisfied Frank that the man of magic was face to face with the mighty mystery which no human being has ever solved and lived.

Zolverein's face was ghastly gray, while his eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. It almost seemed that already he had solved the mystery.

But Merriwell's voice reached the man's ears, and, with a great effort, he turned his head slightly, looking toward the door.