"That is natural," declared the man, swiftly. "Did you ever collect stamps? If you have, you should know something of the mania that seizes upon a collector. It is thus with me. If I see an odd ring I cannot obtain, I feel as if I had been robbed of something that rightfully belongs to me."
He paused a moment in his talk, but Frank walked straight onward, saying nothing.
"I have offered you a ridiculous price for that ring," continued the man. "I cannot afford it, but my mind is set on having the ring. Already I have spent a fortune in my collections, and the time has come when I cannot fling money freely to the winds. Come now, young man, have a little sympathy with me, and sell me that ring."
Under certain circumstances these words might have melted Frank, who was not a cold-blooded lad, by any means; but there was something in the stranger's villainous aspect and repulsive manner that had turned the boy against the man in black and caused him to remain obdurate.
"I told you at first that it was useless to offer me money for this ring," said the boy. "I think you will begin to understand that I meant it."
"At least, you will tell me how it came in your possession?"
Frank hesitated. Surely there could be no harm in telling this, and it might enable him to get rid of the stranger, so he said:
"It was given to me by my mother."
"And your mother—how did she obtain it?" swiftly asked the stranger.
"My father gave it to her. I do not know how it came into his possession."
"Your father and mother——"
"Are dead."
"Ha! And you prize the ring because it was a present from your mother?"
"That is one reason."
"And there is another?"
"Yes."
"What?"
It suddenly struck Frank that he was talking altogether too much, and so he answered:
"I decline to say. I have already told you enough, and I beg you to excuse me. We will part here."
"First answer one more question. What was your father's name?"
"Charles Conrad Merriwell."
The man in black put a hand to his eyes, and seemed to be thinking for a moment. Beneath his breath he muttered:
"Merriwell, Merriwell—I do not know the name."
Then, dropping his hand, he said:
"I will make you one more offer for the ring. I will give you fifty dollars for it. See—here is the money. Don't be foolish—take it! You will never receive another such offer."
He had pulled out some bills, from which he quickly selected a fifty-dollar bank-note, which he tendered to Frank.
The boy drew away.
"You are wasting your time in offering me money for the ring. I am in earnest in declining to sell it. Good-day, sir."
He turned and walked swiftly away.
The baffled man in black stood staring after the lad, his forehead lowering and his white teeth showing a bit through his dark mustache.
"Refuse to sell the ring!" he grated, madly. "All right! I am not defeated. I will have it within a week!"
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MYSTERY OF THE RING.
Frank did not glance back till he turned onto another street, and then he saw the man in black standing quite still where they had parted. The reddish glow of the sunset was behind the man, on which his black figure stood out like a silhouette, the cloak and cape making him slightly resemble a gigantic bat.
The boy shivered a little as he passed beyond the view of the mysterious stranger.
"That man makes my blood cold," he murmured. "There is something decidedly awe-inspiring about him. Somehow, I do not believe I have seen the last of him."
Frank was right; he had not seen the last of the man in black.
Thinking of what had happened, Frank soon came to the conclusion that the man was mad, or else there was some mystery about the ring that was not known to the possessor.
Why had the stranger been so desirous of knowing how the ring came into Frank's possession?
True he had said that he always wished to know the history of such rings as he collected; but Frank had refused distinctly to sell the ring, and still the man had seemed very desirous of obtaining information concerning it.
Why had he asked the name of Frank's father?
These questions presented themselves to the boy for consideration, and he remembered how, on hearing the name, the stranger had confessed that it was unfamiliar to him.
Frank was thinking deeply of these things, when a familiar voice called:
"Hello, Frank! Are you going past without speaking?"
He started and looked up, finding himself in front of Inza's home. It was a fine, old-fashioned house, built years and years ago, and an iron fence surrounded the front lawn. Inza was at the gate, a pretty pout on her face.
The young cadet instantly lifted his cap, as he smilingly retorted:
"I did not see you there, Miss Burrage."
"Oh, bother your 'Miss Burrage!'" she exclaimed. "You know it was Inza with you long ago—you promised to call me that. No wonder you didn't see me; you were going past with your head down, your eyes on the ground, and an expression of profound abstraction on your face. What in the world were you thinking of?"
"That's a mystery," said Frank, approaching the gate.
"Indeed!" and she lifted her eyebrows with a pretty Assumption of offended dignity. "A secret from me?"
"I did not say it was a secret; I said it was a mystery. I was thinking of the man in black."
"Mercy!" She gave a little shiver. "What is the man in black—some horrible ogre?"
"Well, I fancy he is ogre enough to give you the chills."
"What story did you find him in?"
"Oh, I didn't find him in a story; I met him in real life. I left him a few minutes ago."
"This is interesting!" she laughed. "Who is he? What's his name?"
"I don't know. Didn't I say he is a mystery?"
"Come, Frank, are you trying to tease me?"
"Not at all. I will tell you all I know about this singular man in black."
Then, leaning gracefully against one of the iron gateposts, he related his recent adventure with the unpleasant stranger. She listened with breathless interest, her eyes growing wider and wider, and an expression of alarm coming to her pretty face.
"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed, when he had finished; "I know this terrible man is dangerous! He will do you harm!"
"Oh, I'm not afraid of that," declared the boy, lightly; "but I would give something to know what there is about this ring that makes him so desirous of possessing it."
He held up the ring for her to examine. It was an oddly twisted band of gold, looking like a writhing serpent. It was set with a peculiar black stone that seemed quite as hard as a diamond, for all that there were numerous marks and scratches on its smooth surface.
"It is a horrid ugly old ring," declared Inza. "Anybody must be crazy to offer fifty dollars for it."
"Unless it bears some