Frank Merriwell uttered the exclamation. He was in front of the Hoffman House, in New York. Three young men in evening dress had just left the hotel, and were about to enter a cab that had drawn up to the curb for them. Frank stared in astonishment at one of them. He was a slender, clean-cut, handsome fellow. One of the men, his silk hat thrust recklessly back on his curly yellow hair, was speaking to the driver. The other, with a mustache black as midnight, was holding the door open for the third to enter the cab. Frank sprang forward.…
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