CHAPTER IX.THE BLOOD-RED STAR.
Frank was startled, to say the least. He looked at the man searchingly, wondering now that the duke could be as calm as he seemed. It was plain he had more nerve than Merry had thought.
“The tenth day!” exclaimed Frank. “Then your time is up!”
“Yes,” said the duke, with strange calmness.
“That means——”
Merry stopped.
“I have told you what it means.”
“And you have not heeded the warning?”
“I have not been driven from France.”
“And you do not fear the Black Brothers?”
The French nobleman drew himself up proudly.
“A Laforce never turns his back on danger,” he declared.
“But such terrible peril! It were different if you could face your foes.”
“Yes, it is hard to be beset by unseen peril.”
“Still you do not fear?”
The duke hesitated a little, and then spoke slowly.
“I believe that the bravest may feel fear at times,” he confessed. “In battle it is different, but when one knows a peril he cannot see may be creeping upon him slowly and surely he must be made of more than flesh and blood not to feel a thrill of fear.”
“It is a terrible thing!” exclaimed the young American earnestly. “It is like being chained in a pit where the water is rising inch by inch.”
“It is worse. The prisoner in the pit can see the water rise, but a man to whom the sign of the Black Brothers has been given knows the danger is creeping upon him, but he cannot see it.”
Now Frank felt a strong thrill of admiration for this old Frenchman who could remain thus cool in the face of an unseen and deadly peril.
“If you meet the fate of the others—what then?”
“The assassins cannot destroy every friend of Dreyfus, and justice shall triumph at last.”
“But are you willing to be a sacrifice?”
“No! Still I have lived, and my years to come are not many, at most. If I fall, I have faith to believe that it will mark the turning-point in favor of the prisoner of Devil’s Island. I believe that somehow, sometime, France shall emerge from the clouds and be purged of the stain upon her.”
It gave Frank Merriwell a sensation he had never before experienced to be sitting there before the Café de la Paix, in the heart of Paris, calmly speaking with a man who had been doomed to death by a mysterious band of assassins, and who knew that, were the assassins to carry out their fearful threat, he had not many hours more to live. All around them was life and pleasure, and nothing but the seriousness of the duke could impress Merriwell with the real horror of the situation.
“This sign of which you speak—what is it?”
Edmond Laforce felt in his pocket and brought something forth. This he placed upon the table.
It was a metal star, dark-red in color, with points numbered from one to seven. Upon it were the words, “Ten days.” Beneath the words appeared the dreadful death-machine of France, the guillotine. Frank gazed on the blood-red star with deep interest.
“This,” said the duke, with forced calmness, “is the sign of the Black Brothers. The seven points of the star represent the seven members of the assassin band.”
“You have kept it!” exclaimed Merry. “Why didn’t you throw the thing away?”
“What good? It’s work was done when I received it.”
“How did it come to you?”
“I was sitting at dinner in the Deux Mondes. My first order had not been filled when, happening to glance upon the table before me, I saw this blood-red star lying there. That is how it came to me.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Frank, with a sudden feeling of relief. “Then it was not sent to you direct?”
“No, in a sense it was not.”
“You found it by accident.”
“So it seemed.”
“And it may not have been meant for you at all!”
“Perhaps,” said the duke frankly, “that is the reason why I have not left France. Perhaps, I have thought, it might not be meant for me.”
“I see,” said the American youth eagerly. “But you know beyond a doubt that it is the sign of the Black Brothers?”
“Yes; it is their sign of death. It is strange I have told you all this. I have not talked to others of it, but something led me to speak to you. Perhaps it was the strange pains in my heart. They gave me a shock. I thought of the others who had died suddenly and unaccountably. Your sympathy with Dreyfus led me to talk on, till now you know all.”
“Monsieur, it may be you have alarmed yourself needlessly. There is a chance that you have not been selected as a victim.”
“A chance—yes. But you must remember that I am marked as a friend of Dreyfus. It would be most natural that I had been selected to fall by the Black Brothers.”
“I understand your feeling in the matter, and I admire your nerve. Still, I hope you may live to see Dreyfus given a fair and open trial.”
Laforce was about to speak in reply to this, when he was again seized by the pains in his heart, and this time they seemed to overcome him for some moments. Frank arose in agitation, proposing to call for a physician, but the duke restrained him with a gesture.
“I shall see my doctor as soon as possible,” he said in a faint voice.
“I believe you need medical aid at once.”
“If it is the doom of the Black Brothers, medicine will not save me! I fear it may be! Who can tell? Wait, and listen. I have in my possession something that may prove the innocence of Dreyfus. If I should die suddenly, it must not be found upon me, for it would be sure to fall into wrong hands. You claim to have sympathy with Dreyfus, and I wish you to do me a favor.”
“What favor?”
The duke again felt in his pocket, producing a metal ball somewhat larger than an ordinary marble. For a moment he exposed it to Frank, and then he hid it in his hand.
“This,” he half whispered, “holds what may some day prove poor Dreyfus innocent. I am going to give it into your keeping till to-morrow night at this hour, when I will meet you here, and accept it from you—if I am living!”
The duke glanced around, as if to make sure they were not watched, and then he covertly and quickly passed the tiny metal ball to Frank, who felt a strange thrill as he received it.
“Put it away at once,” whispered the Frenchman. “Do not tell a soul that you have it. Promise me you will not tell.”
Frank wondered at his readiness to accept the trust, and still more he wondered at the man’s willingness to trust him, a stranger. Still, he understood the remarkable position in which Laforce was placed. The man feared he might drop dead at any moment, and he did not wish the thing to be found upon him.
“What if you do not meet me here to-morrow to receive it back?” asked Merry.
“I shall be dead.”
“I know; but what shall I do with it then?”
“Keep it till the right one calls for it.”
“The right one?”
“Yes, Monsieur Merriwell.”
“How shall I know the right one?”
“He will give you a signal.”
“What signal?”
“He will press his left hand over his eyes, and say, ‘Justice calls.’”
“Is that all?”
“That is all. And now, perhaps, it will not be well for us to remain longer together. I might arouse suspicion if certain ones were to see us talking thus earnestly for a long time. I have trusted you, not because I was forced to trust some one, but because your face has told me you may be trusted.”
“Thank you, monsieur.”
Laforce waved his hand.
“It is I who owe you thanks, Monsieur Merriwell. I hope to see you here to-morrow evening at this hour.”
“I hope you may.”
“Till then, guard that tiny ball with your life, for it may give life and liberty to the innocent man on Devil’s Island.”
Edmond Laforce, the Duke of Benoit du Sault, picked his jeweled cane from the table, and rose to his feet. Frank rose, also, and their eyes met again.
“I will not offer my hand again, as we know not what eyes are on us,” said the duke. “Till to-morrow night—or forever—farewell!”
He turned, and walked away, and Frank Merriwell returned to his hotel, to think of the strange things he had heard, and to wonder if they could be true. The following morning, he read inFigarothat the Duke of Benoit du Sault had been found dead in his bed. The report stated that it was plainly and undoubtedly a case of heart failure, but Frank Merriwell knew that it was murder!
He sat staring at the paper in a dazed way, thinking of his meeting with the doomed man the previous night, and all the strange things the duke had told him across the little table in front of the Café de la Paix. Now he knew beyond a doubt that the Black Brothers had found another victim. The strange pains Laforce had felt were but the warnings of his coming dissolution.
There was something uncanny and terrible about it, something that gave a chill to Frank Merriwell’s warm blood. Surely, the enemies of the prisoner of Devil’s Island were ready to resort to any extreme of crime to keep the friends of the unfortunate man from securing justice for him. They counted human lives as nothing in their terrible work.
And that was France—happy France.
From the first, Frank had felt sympathy for Dreyfus, and now it seemed that he was in some way connected with the miserable captive in the iron cage on that dread island. He felt in his pocket for the tiny metal ball given him by Edmond Laforce. It was there. He took it out, and examined it closely, for the first time. It seemed too light to be a solid piece of metal, and yet he could see no flaw in it, no opening, nothing but the polished surface.
The dead Duke of Benoit du Sault had said that the ball might some day prove the innocence of Dreyfus. How could that be?
Frank asked himself the question, as he sat there with it in his fingers, turning it over and over. Was it not possible that the duke had been mentally unbalanced?
That was a new thought, and it gave the young American a start. Surely, the uncanny story the man had told seemed like the imaginings of a diseased brain, and men had gone mad in France from thinking of the Dreyfus affair. Perhaps the duke had become crazed from brooding over it, and had imagined the story of the Black Brothers, the blood-red star, and the metal ball that was to prove the innocence of the condemned man.
It was possible he had caused the star to be made by his own directions. Or, perhaps, having found it as he claimed, he had woven around it the weird story which he had revealed to Frank.
Surely, it was easy enough for a Frenchman who was mentally unsound to have such conceptions, and to believe in them. But the most remarkable part of it all was that the duke should die on that night which he claimed completed the tenth day of grace allotted to him by the Black Brothers.
Frank had read that sometimes human beings become so firmly convinced that they must die at a certain time that they bring about the thing they fear. Had this been the case with the duke?
It was possible; and, still, Merry could not quite bring himself to believe the whole thing had been an hallucination of the dead man’s diseased brain. He had promised the duke to guard the metal ball with his life, and he resolved to do so now, even though Laforce was dead.
As he sat there, staring at the tiny ball, Wellington Maybe, his tutor, came softly into the room.
“Mr. Merriwell,” said the little man in a small voice, “I think to-day we will review——”
“Nothing,” spoke Frank abruptly, putting the ball back into his pocket. “I have studied faithfully for the past three days, and to-day I shall take a rest.”
“But——”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it, Mr. Maybe. You are at liberty to spend the day as you please. I heard you say yesterday that you wished to visit the art galleries at Versailles. You will have a good opportunity to-day.”
Mr. Maybe knew it was useless to argue with Merry, when his mind was made up, and so he did not attempt it further, but withdrew, shaking his head, leaving Frank once more to his thoughts.
“I could not study to-day, after what has happened,” muttered Merry. “I should be thinking all the time of the Black Brothers, the blood-red star, and the dead Duke of Benoit du Sault.”
There was a shout of laughter in an adjoining room, and Rattleton came bounding into the room, lazily pursued by Browning, who was growling about some sell he had “bought.”
“Oh, you’re a mark!” chuckled Harry. “Everybody catches you. You’re a sucker.”
“Speaking of suckers,” said Diamond, following them in, “do you remember the time Browning went fishing in a fresh-water pond, and brought back a fine string of mackerel.”
“Oh, that was a lie!” grunted the big fellow, flinging himself down on an easy chair, and getting out his pipe. “You fellows used to think that yarn funny. It’s stale now.”
Rattleton continued to chaff the big Yale man, but Merry took no part in this, which the others noticed after awhile.
“What’s the matter, Frank?” asked Diamond. “You look all fussed up. Anything gone wrong?”
Frank felt like telling them all about it, but he remembered his promise to Edmond Laforce, and refrained.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I am not feeling in the best of spirits this morning.”
Now, it was such a remarkable thing for him to feel other than in high spirits that they all stared at him blankly.
“Why, I thought you were enjoying France since Mart Brattle has ceased to trouble you?” said Jack.
“So I am,” assured Merry, rising, and walking to the window, where he stood, looking out, his hands in his pockets.
As Frank stood there, he noticed on the opposite side of the wide street a man, who was lingering in a doorway. The man was dressed in black, and he looked up at the hotel in a searching way. After a little, he seemed to observe Merry at the window, and then he drew back into the doorway. There was something odd about the man’s behavior, which caused Merry to retreat from the window, but remain where he could see the doorway. After a time, the man appeared in the doorway again, and gazed up at the hotel.
Somehow, Frank felt that the fellow was a spy or shadower. For whom was he watching? Merry turned from the window, and announced that he was going out.
On the street, Frank looked around for the man in the doorway, but could see nothing of him, which caused him to wonder if he had been wrong in thinking he was a spy.
Direct to the Deux Mondes Frank went, and there he made inquiries about the dead duke. All he learned was that Laforce had retired shortly before midnight, apparently in good health, and had been found dead in the morning, the early discovery being made as his door stood slightly ajar. There were no marks of violence nor anything to indicate the man had not died a natural death. To Merry, it seemed rather strange that the duke had left his door open; and, if he had not left it open, why had it been found ajar in the morning?
Somehow, it seemed that the hand of death had opened that door. Frank pictured the grim agent of destruction creeping in on the man as he slept, and accomplishing the dread work. It was not strange that the American youth again felt a chill in his warm blood. Frank asked if there had been anything queer in the behavior of the duke previous to his death, and was told that he had seemed rather odd and moody for a few days.
Then, with all the skill he could command, Merry sought to discover if there was a taint of insanity in the Laforce blood, but no one seemed to know that such was the case. The conviction that Edmond Laforce had met death at the hands of assassins, for all that he bore no mark of violence, grew upon Frank Merriwell.
And Frank began to feel that it was his duty to solve the mystery, if possible. Fate had connected him with the remarkable tragedy, and it would be cowardly not to accept the commission placed on his shoulders by chance. As Merry turned to leave the hotel, he noticed a man, who had been lingering near while he asked the questions. In a moment, he recognized the man in black, whom he had seen in the doorway opposite his hotel.
On the street, Frank walked briskly to the first corner. As he turned into the next street, he gave a quick backward glance. The shadower in black was coming!