"Yes!" snarled the other, trying to wrench his hand free.
"Deviltry, more likely! How did you get in here?"
"Well, you'll pay dearly for that mirror!"
"You'll never make me pay for it, you can gamble on that!"
Now Harris made a furious struggle to break away, but Frank forced him back against some scenery and pinned him there.
"It's no use, you rascal!" came from Merry's lips. "You are caught this time, and you won't get away."
"Don't be so sure," panted Frank's enemy. "I have given you the slip more than once, and now----"
He uttered a strange cry, and, a moment later, Merriwell realized there was danger behind him; but he was prevented from turning, and, all at once, a pair of small, strong hands encircled his throat, the fingers crushing into the flesh.
Frank was in a bad scrape, as he instantly understood. Harris was not alone, and his companion had caught Merry unawares.
"Choke him! choke him!" hissed Sport, with a savage laugh of satisfaction. "Now we've got him!"
Frank twisted and squirmed. For some seconds a furious struggle took place on that stage, but Harris managed to keep Merriwell from breaking the choking grip of the unknown, and those small, strong hands were crushing the life and energy out of the young magician.
"Oh, we've got you!" exulted Frank's old Yale enemy. "You can't do it, Merriwell! You came here just in time to run your head into this trap!"
Frank could make no reply, for his tongue was protruding from his mouth. In his ears there was a roaring sound, and colored lights seemed bursting and changing before his eyes.
Frank knew the venom of Harris--knew the fellow was a brute who would hesitate at nothing to satisfy his evil desire for revenge. Alone he could have handled the young ruffian easily, but the attack from behind conquered him.
He wavered, swayed, and would have fallen. They dragged him to a chair.
"Ropes!" cried Harris. "Bring them quick! We'll tie him."
The other hustled away and quickly returned. Then the two tied the unfortunate magician to the chair.
The other looked about, but could not find anything that suited Sport.
"Oh, never mind," said the fellow, as he took a huge clasp knife from his pocket and opened it. "If he hollers, I'll cut his throat!"