CHAPTER VII.IN THE WINE-CELLAR.
Frank was carried down a shaking flight of stairs into a cellar, where there were barrels and wine-casks and long shelves of bottles, covered with dust and cobwebs. They placed him on a bench, and the light of their coal-oil lamps showed him something that caused him to start and groan.
Bruce Browning was there, standing in the center of the cellar, bound securely to a stone pillar, a gag in his mouth. The eyes of the big Yale man met those of his chum, and there was an instant understanding between them.
Frank knew why Bruce had not returned to the hotel. At last the mighty giant had been conquered and made a captive. In that look volumes were spoken. Bruce expressed his anger, grief, and regret, while Frank showed his sympathy.
They had found each other, but they were helpless and in the power of desperate men. The faces of those men were covered by masks, with the exception of that of Brattle. It seemed that Martin did not care to attempt to conceal his identity. There were seven of them in all.
Brattle stood before Frank and sneered at him.
“Poor fool!” he said. “Did you think you could get the best of me? With all your tricks of disguise, you are not smart enough to cope with Mart Brattle.”
Frank was not gagged.
“It must take a great rascal to match you,” he said.
“I confess that I did not know you in the theater,” said Brattle; “but I knew you after you had followed us so far.”
Frank was disgusted.
“So you discovered I was following you?” he muttered.
“Yes. Then I was certain it must be you; but how you found your way into that yard is what beats me. You disappeared from the street in a twinkling, and next you were in that yard when we came to hunt for you.”
“And you don’t know how I got there?”
“I don’t know how you found the way.”
Frank wondered if the man spoke the truth. He wondered if, indeed, the Mystery had not betrayed him after all. If not, what had become of Mr. Noname? Frank remembered how many times that strange man had appeared and saved him from his enemies, and he began to wonder if it would not happen again.
“Tell me how you found your way into that yard,” commanded Martin Brattle.
Frank laughed.
“That is something for you to find out,” he said.
“You will not tell?”
Brattle snapped his fingers.
“It makes little difference. To-night ends your career in France. You shall die, Frank Merriwell, and you will never tell anything you may have learned to anybody else.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Merry. “You boast; but I doubt if you have the nerve to carry out your threats.”
“You will not doubt long. Let me tell you something. Do you see these men about me?”
“I am not blind.”
“They are the most desperate cutthroats in all Paris. There is not one of them who has not killed his man. They live by robbery and murder.”
“Well, I see you have chosen fit associates, Brattle.”
“Don’t get funny!” growled the man. “I don’t like it!”
“You may not like it, but it is the truth. They are fit associates for you. You have lived by robbery, and I doubt not that you will be executed for murder.”
“Better keep a civil tongue, Merriwell!” snarled Brattle. “You are in my power, and I can make you die a thousand deaths!”
“I have but one life, and so you can make me die but one death.”
Brattle stood with his hands on his hips, scowling down at his victim. The masked ruffians were farther back. They remained silent, and it is doubtful if any of them understood what was being said.
“You do not know me, Frank Merriwell. I have sworn to get even with you for all you have cost me.”
“I have known others to swear such an oath. One who did so, a pal of yours, was drowned in England. Drowning is too easy a death for you.”
“Go on! You are digging your own grave with your words!”
“A little while ago you said you had decided to kill me, anyhow. What difference does it make?”
“Before I kill you you must tell me where to find Elsie Bellwood. In what part of Paris is she?”
“She is not in Paris.”
“Don’t lie!”
“I am not lying, Brattle. You have fooled yourself. Elsie did not come to Paris at all. She is in England.”
“I do not believe it!”
Frank laughed shortly.
“You are at liberty to believe what you like. It makes no difference to me. I am not telling you this to aid you in any way, but simply to show you that you have made a fool of yourself by chasing on here to France, thinking you were following up Elsie Bellwood.”
“Where is she in England?”
“That is for you to find out, Brattle.”
“You refuse to tell?”
“I do.”
“I’ll make you tell!”
“You can’t.”
“We shall see.”
Brattle turned to one of the men and asked him in French for his knife. When he turned back, he held a long, glittering blade in his fingers.
“Now,” he said, resting one knee on the bench and grasping Frank by the neck, “we’ll see if you can be made to tell!”
The point of the knife was at Frank Merriwell’s throat. Merry felt it pricking there, but he never winced or showed the least sign of fear.
Brattle was surprised.
“Can you feel the knife?” he sneered, “or are you too scared to feel anything, you young fool?”
“I can feel it very plainly, thank you,” said Frank. “I should say that the point must be just above my jugular vein.”
Brattle cried out something in French, and there came muttered exclamations of astonishment and admiration from the ruffians who were watching everything. They could not help admiring the nerve of the captive. In the center of the cellar Bruce Browning was twisting and straining at his bonds, the veins beginning to stand out like cords on his face and neck.
Martin Brattle had seen Frank Merriwell under other circumstances, and knew Merry was nervy, but this was something more than the villain had anticipated.
“If I were to give a very slight pressure, this keen blade would penetrate your jugular vein, and then all the doctors in Paris could not give you one hour of life.”
“That’s right, Brat,” admitted Frank. “When the jugular is penetrated, a fellow is done for.”
“Then speak!” ordered Martin fiercely. “Speak, or I will tap the vein, and you shall see your life-blood spouting from your neck!”
Browning’s teeth cracked as they grated together.
“It’s no use,” said Frank coolly; “you can’t force me to speak in that way, Brattle. Go ahead with your devilish work.”
Martin Brattle sprang back and stood panting, trembling, and glaring at his captive.
“What are you made of?” he faltered.
“Flesh and blood,” was the answer; “but not the kind of flesh and blood that quakes before a dastard like you!”
“Still you know I can kill you!”
“Yes; but I know you cannot make me squeal. I’d be ashamed to die after begging to you! It would be dying like a coward! If I must croak, I prefer to do it like a man! Go on with your work!”
Whether they understood it or not, some of the masked ruffians, who stood about with folded arms, murmured as if they were applauding.
Never before had Bruce Browning felt such admiration for his college chum. Always had he known Frank was brave, but now he knew he had nerves of iron. Bruce did not wonder that Merry had been a winner at everything, for he felt that any man with such nerve could not help winning.
Brattle swore.
“I believe you think I am fooling with you!” he snarled. “I believe you think I do not dare to kill you!”
“Quite the contrary,” said Merry promptly; “I believe you are such a coward that you dare murder me, for no one but a low-lived cur would think of doing such a thing!”
Again Brattle sprang on Frank and menaced him with the glittering knife, on the very point of which was a single drop of blood.
“Go ahead!” cried Merry. “Don’t be fooling around like this! Finish your job!”
Brattle drew off.
“Not so quick,” he said. “I understand. You are eager that I should do it, in order to have it over as soon as possible. But I have sworn to make you tell where I may find Elsie Bellwood, and I’ll do it. Do you know how I am going to make you do it?”
“I haven’t an idea.”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Do.”
“I am going to begin by cutting off your fingers one by one.”
“A nice idea!”
“Then I shall cut off your ears, your nose, and so on. I shall torture you by inches till you tell me what I wish to know!”
“You are a bigger coward than I thought!” observed Merry. “Not only that, but you are a brute of the lowest type, Brattle. You are not fit to mingle with men!”
“Oh, you may say what you like! I have to get revenge on you! You robbed me of Elsie! You ruined my business in New York! You put the police after me! You made it necessary for me to fly from the country!”
“What a fine thing that was for the country!”
“I followed you to England to get possession of that girl, and also to get square with you. In London you brought more trouble on me. Because of you, I lay weeks in a hospital. At first they said I might not recover, but I vowed that I would not die till I was able to say I had squared my debt with you. I lived, and I am here to square that debt!”
“Well, you have made talk enough about it. Go ahead with the job.”
“You seem anxious to have the torture begin.”
“Or anxious to have it over.”
“Well, it will not end very quickly. Do you still fancy I am fooling with you? Well, you shall see! I will begin right away by taking a finger from your hand. No; I think I will begin by taking off your ears.”
Browning was straining at his bonds again. He saw the wretch bend over Frank with the knife and reach to slice off one of Merry’s ears. Then, with a mighty surge, the Yale giant burst his bonds asunder. He tore himself free, snatched the gag from his mouth, gave a roar like that of a mad lion, and flung himself on Brattle.
The villain was knocked down in a moment. He screamed for help, and the other ruffians attacked Browning. Bruce was a perfect whirlwind. He caught one of the men up and whirled him round his head like a club, knocking the others over and tumbling them in heaps. He was magnificent in his rage and strength.
“Give it to ’em, Bruce!” cried Merry from the bench, exulting in the turn the tide had taken. “Lay on, and spare not!”
“Oh, I’ll give it to them!” roared the big fellow. “I’ll crack their heads! I’ll mow them down! Where’s that cur who was going to cut off your fingers and your ears? Let him stand forth! I want to get one more crack at him!”
Some of the men fled screaming from the cellar, but more were knocked stiff and senseless on the cemented floor. Bottles crashed down from the shelves and barrels were upset. The fight did not last long, for the men could not stand before the Yale giant. When they had been knocked out, or had fled, Bruce hastened to set Frank free.
They looked for Brattle, but he was one who had escaped by flight.
“We must get out of here,” said Merry. “I fancy we have no time to lose.”
“You are right,” said a deep voice, and they looked up to see the Man of Mystery standing on the stairs. “I have found you at last, led here by the sounds of battle. I feared I had lost you forever. Come; I will lead you from this place. You must get out before the gang recovers.”
They sprang up the stairs after him, and he led them out to the yard where the battle had taken place. Through the passage which he knew he escorted them from the yard and brought them to the open street.
“There,” he said, “you are free. Go!”
A door closed behind them, and when they tried to open it they were unable to do so. The Mystery was gone, and to them he remained a mystery still.
“Was it possible, Frank,” cried Bruce, as they were talking it over the next day, “that you really thought me angry with you? My dear fellow, that was part of the joke. It was my plan to get back at you.”
“Well, it was pretty good acting,” laughed Merry.
“I enjoyed it when I found you were chasing me up. I dodged into that café by accident, and I found a way out by the back door, which opened into that little yard. The door closed behind me, and then I felt that something was wrong. I hammered on it, but it would not open before me. Then I put my shoulder to it and burst it open.”
“The pounding and the crash I heard!” exclaimed Frank.
“I don’t remember much after that till I found myself bound to that stone pillar in the cellar,” said Bruce. “I think somebody struck me on the head with a club as I stumbled into the passage.”
“And I heard you groan!” exclaimed Frank.
“Well, it has turned out pretty well, even though Brattle escaped. He’ll meet his just deserts pretty soon.”
“That is certain,” nodded Frank. “But now I most desire to see the Man Without a Name and thank him for what he has done. He has promised that I shall see him again.”