Again the sheriff knocked loudly, but still there was no answer. He turned the knob and shook the door. “Open this door!” he commanded. Not a sound from within. “Open it, in the name of the law!” Even that failed to elicit a response. Frank grew impatient. “There must be a duplicate key,” he said. “Let’s have it.” “I will get it,” said the clerk, and he started downstairs. Frank knelt in front of the door and tried to peer through the keyhole, but he quickly said: “There is a key in this lock on the inside!” “Then he must be in there,” said Diamond. “It’s no use for him to play this kind of a game. We’ll have him soon.” A sudden thought came to Merry. What if Flynn had committed suicide? The fellow was rattleheaded and desperate. Without doubt he drank heavily. No one could tell what such a man might do. The clerk came with the key, but it could not be used. Again the sheriff demanded admittance, and again there was no answer. “Break down the door!” said Frank. “Wait!” cried the clerk—“wait till I find the proprietor!” “I will pay for the door!” exclaimed Frank. “Go ahead, Mr. Officer.” The sheriff set his shoulder against the door and gave a surge. Then there was a crash and the door flew open. Into the room they went. It was empty! Flynn was not there! The window was open. Out of it dangled a rope. Frank leaped forward and looked out into the back yard. “He’s gone!” cried Merriwell, fiercely. “He knew he was watched, and he has given us the slip!” “What’s this?” exclaimed Jack, catching up a sheet of paper from the stand. “He’s left a note here.” Then Diamond read aloud: “I know this room is watched. You think you have me caught, but I will fool you. When I found myself watched, I came here and took this room, which I have occupied before, because I knew it would be easy to drop out into the back yard and give you the slip that way. But I am not done with Mr. Frank Merriwell. He has robbed me, and I will get at him yet. My time is coming. “FLYNN.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII THE RUINED BRIDGE. “I believe I am on the trail at last!” Frank Merriwell uttered the words. It was two hours after Flynn’s escape from the Windsor, and a dozen persons had been searching for the man ever since. Frank had found that Flynn, after restoring the hired wheel, in his possession, to the dealer of whom he had obtained it, had returned that very morning and bought the wheel outright, taking it away with him. This was at a time after he retired to the room in the hotel, and was, beyond a doubt, after his escape into the back yard.