Frank might well have felt pleased that he exercised such an influence over a man like Plug Kirby.

The door opened and Rattleton came into the saloon, followed by Old Put and Dismal Jones.

“Come on, Kirby,” said Frank, quietly.  “Here is the man we are waiting for.”

Putnam had halted near the bar, a puzzled look on his face, and Frank heard him say to Harry: 

“What in the world did you drag me in here for, old man?  You know I am not drinking anything now, and—­”

“As I told you,” interrupted Harry, grimly, “I brought you in to see a man.  Here he is.”

Frank and the rough had come up behind Putnam, who now turned, and, with still greater astonishment, cried: 

“What—­Merriwell?  What in the world are you doing in this place?”

“Permit me to introduce you to Mr. Plug Kirby—­Mr. Burnham Putnam.  Have you ever met the man before.”

Old Put drew back, staring at the ruffian in astonishment.

“What in blazes is this?” he gasped.  “Is it a joke?”

“No joke,” returned Frank, sternly.  “It is a matter of business.  Mr. Kirby, have you ever met Mr. Putnam before?”

“Naw!” cried the man.  “Dis ain’t der cove wot come ter me ter do der job.  Dis is anodder feller.”

“You are sure?” demanded Frank, with an expression of positive relief.  “His name was on the card you gave me.”

“I don’t care if it was, dis ain’t der feller wot give der card ter me, not by a great big lot.”

“Well, I am glad of that!” cried Frank, and he grasped Putnam’s hand.  “It is a great relief.”

“Didn’t I tell you!” almost shouted Harry.

“Well, now, I want to know what all this is about,” said Old Put, who was greatly puzzled.  “I am all at sea.”

Without hesitation Frank explained how a person had hired Plug Kirby to break his arm and what the result had been; how the person who made the bargain had given a card on which Putnam’s name was engraved.  Frank took the card from his pocket and Putnam said it was one of his regular visiting cards.

“Some fellow has been working on my name in order to hide his own identity!” cried Put, who was greatly angered.  “Oh, I’d like to get hold of the skunk!”

At this moment the door which led to the back room opened, and Roland Ditson, who had again visited Buster Kelley, came into the saloon.  He started back when he saw the little group of students, but Plug Kirby saw his face and hoarsely exclaimed: 

“Dere’s der mug now!  Dat’s der feller wot hired me an’ give me der card!  I’ll swear ter dat!”

Seeing there was no way out of it, Roll came forward.  He was rather pale, but he succeeded in putting on a front.

“Hello, fellows!” he cried.  “What are you doing in here?”

Merriwell had him by the collar in a twinkling.

“Looking for you,” he said, “and we have found you!  So you are the chap who hired this man to break my arm in order to fix me so I couldn’t pitch any more!  Well, I declare I didn’t think anything quite as low as that even of you!”