CHAPTER XII.M. DE VILLEFORT.
Frank Merriwell’s movements had been equally swift. The instant the light went out, he swung his body far to one side, and thus it happened that Bruant’s hands grasped nothing when he made that savage clutch across the table. But the violence of his spring flung the table against Frank, who was unable to extricate himself, and over they went, with a crash, upon the floor.
A curse escaped the lips of the Strangler.
“You can’t escape my hands!” he hissed.
He caught hold of Merry, and it was wonderful how swiftly his hands leaped up to the throat of the young American, and fastened there. Frank felt that the supreme moment had come. He pushed the muzzle of his revolver against one of the fellow’s elbows, and fired upward. The bullet must have shattered the man’s arm, and the hold on Frank’s throat relaxed in a moment.
“Hereafter,” said the American youth, “you will do your strangling with one hand!”
A furious snarl of anger and pain came from the wounded wretch, and, striking out with his fist, judging well where to hit, Frank Merriwell struck Bruant down in the dark. Then, in a most remarkable manner, he found his way across the room to the door that had closed behind him when he entered. Satisfied he had reached the door, he flung his shoulder against it, and burst it open.
The old man in the front shop stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Monsieur,” said Frank quietly, “the man in the back room needs the services of a skilful surgeon.”
Then he walked out of the place, and no hand was raised to halt him. He was not a little surprised at the easy manner in which he had escaped, for he had expected to fight his way out of a nest of desperadoes.
Even after he was on the street, and walking swiftly from that spot, it did not seem possible he had been fortunate enough to get away so quickly, and with such little difficulty. On leaving the shop, he had returned the revolver to his pocket, as a man hurrying along the streets of Paris at night, with a loaded revolver in his grasp, is sure to attract considerable attention.
Just then attention was something little desired by Frank. He had been forced to use his revolver in self-defense, but he had not shot to kill. He felt sure he had simply broken the arm of the man who had clutched his throat. When it was all over, Frank wondered somewhat at his perfect tranquillity, for he was not shaking in the least.
In Paris, he had expected to rest, and enjoy life. He had fancied no dangers would beset him there, but he had found such dangers as he had seldom known, and his adventures were of the most sensational nature. When he was a little distance from the shop, he felt in his pocket, to make sure the precious metal ball was still there. His fingers found it, and he was well satisfied.
“Not till the right one comes will I part with it,” he muttered.
Now he felt certain the Duke of Benoit du Sault had spoken nothing but the simple truth when he claimed that in some manner the tiny ball might help to establish the innocence of the captive of Devil’s Island. No longer was he inclined to believe the duke mentally unbalanced. He was now willing to accept the story of the Black Brothers and the blood-red star. It was uncanny and weird enough, and still it aroused in him a desire to solve the mystery, and learn the whole truth.
Frank walked swiftly, now and then turning, to make sure he was not followed. Unstopped and unmolested, he made his way straight to the hotel. There he found Diamond and Rattleton, engaged in a game of pinochle, while Browning reclined on a couch, and filled the room with smoke. Tutor Maybe was sleeping soundly in bed, where he had been for some hours.
“Look here, Merriwell,” cried Rattleton, as Frank appeared, “this thing must stop!”
“That’s right,” grunted Browning, while Diamond looked at Merry reproachfully and accusingly, and said nothing.
“What’s the matter with you fellows?” asked Frank, with a smile.
“Looks happy, doesn’t he?” chuckled Rattleton, winking at Bruce.
“As a clam,” said the big fellow. “He must have had a very pleasant time this evening.”
“I have,” confessed Merry. “I have enjoyed myself exceedingly, I assure you.”
“The brazen creature!” gasped Rattleton. “My! my! but I never thought it of him!”
“Nor I,” came from the big fellow on the couch. “I say, Merry, what’s her name?”
“What’s who’s name?”
“Oh, don’t give us any of that!” said Harry. “It won’t go with this crowd!”
“I should say nit!” growled Bruce good-naturedly. “Own right up like a man. What’s her name? Is she an artist’s model? Oh, I’ll bet you’ve been over in the Quarter!”
“And only away from Elsie Bellwood such a short time!” said Diamond, more in reproof than in jest. “I did not think it of you, Frank!”
Frank laughed pleasantly.
“My dear boys,” he said, “you are off your trolleys.”
“Now, don’t tell us there isn’t a girl in it!” shouted Rattleton, flinging down his cards, and rising to his feet. “I have always regarded you as the soul of veracity, and I do not wish to lose faith in you now.”
“Remember, my dear boy,” said Browning in a fatherly way, “that you are in Paris—naughty Paris. You must have a care not to lose your veracity along with your other good qualities.”
“It is the second evening you have been out alone,” said Harry. “You are not in the habit of meandering around all by yourself in a strange city. You are a person who enjoys company.”
“I’m afraid he’s had company enough,” said Diamond soberly.
Now, when Frank thought of what had actually happened, and what his friends seemed to imagine had happened, he sat down and laughed most heartily.
“He’s becoming depraved fast!” exclaimed Rattleton. “He can laugh over it in a heartless manner.”
“Yes; he’s going to the dogs, sure enough!” grunted Bruce. “It’s a shame! He was able to withstand temptation till he came here to naughty Paris.”
“Boys,” said Diamond, “I’m afraid it’s no joking-matter.”
And that made Frank laugh still harder.
Wiping his eyes, Merry said:
“My dear Diamond, surely you have not been affected by the air of Paris? You are constant enough to Juliet, whom you left in England.”
Jack’s face turned crimson.
“Oh, that’s nothing serious!” he protested, scowling at Frank, and trying to make Merry understand that he did not wish too much said before the others.
But Harry and Bruce were quick to catch on, and they made it rather warm for Diamond for some minutes.
“Oh, you fellows think you are smart!” exclaimed the Virginian. “You are ready to turn from Frank any time, and pick at me, but you can carry it too far!”
“Take your medicine,” advised Browning. “Don’t fly off the handle. You must stand a little jollying, when your turn comes. You laughed with the others when the alarm-clock joke was worked on me.”
The boys tried to induce Frank to tell where he had been, but he kept them guessing, till, at last, Browning and Rattleton gave up in disgust, and went to bed. Frank was preparing to retire, when Diamond came and sat down near-by. Merry took the revolver from his pocket, wiped it out, and slipped a fresh cartridge into the cylinder. Jack regarded him curiously while he was doing this.
“Have you been carrying that around?” asked the Virginian.
“I took it with me this evening,” nodded Merry.
“And used it?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“I am not in the habit of using a pistol unless it is necessary.”
Diamond looked puzzled and troubled.
“See here, Frank,” he said, “you have been acting rather strange for a day or two.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. What’s up?”
“Perhaps I may tell you sometime.”
“Merriwell, am I your friend?”
Frank turned about, and faced Diamond, who looked very grave and earnest.
“I sincerely hope you are, and I have every reason to believe so,” he said.
Jack was nervous.
“I have something to say to you,” he faltered.
“Well, old man, I am ready to listen. Go ahead.”
Plainly, it was not easy for the Southerner to begin. Frank was surprised to see Jack so embarrassed.
“I am ready to listen,” said Frank quietly. “Fire away, old man.”
“Merriwell, as I am your friend, I hope you will take in good part what I have to say.”
“Don’t fear about that, Jack. Go ahead.”
“I know Paris is a rather giddy place, and—and——” Jack paused, to clear his throat, flushing, and looking more embarrassed than ever. “There is something in the atmosphere here that seems to take hold of the most staid.”
“Yes; a fellow feels new life and buoyancy.” Frank wished to say something to encourage the Virginian, although he was wondering more than ever what his companion could be driving at.
“Yes. Some old men, who must be good, sober citizens at home, act in a most ridiculous manner as soon as they come here. I have seen some of them in this hotel. They are giddy, and they make me sick!”
“But I fail to see what connection this has with me.”
“Er——Oh, it doesn’t have any real connection, but——Why, what I want to say is, that you have—you have acted rather strange for a day or two.”
“You said that before.”
“I believe I did. Don’t you ever think of Elsie since coming to Paris, Frank?”
“Every day.”
“But, you know, you have been so strange—you have taken to going out alone—and—and you haven’t seemed to want anybody to go with you, especially at night. Now, Frank, are you sure you have not been affected by the atmosphere here? Are you sure you think of Elsie as much as you should?”
Frank stared in open-mouthed amazement for some moments, and then he dropped on a chair, bursting into a hearty, ringing laugh.
“By Jove!” he cried. “I didn’t think that was what you were driving at, old man! I didn’t suppose you could really think such a thing of me! Oh, say, it’s too much! And you are all ready to give me a dose of fatherly advice! Oh, ha! ha! ha! Say, this is the funniest thing yet!”
Jack was crimson.
“Don’t!” he pleaded; “don’t laugh at me like that! Those fellows will hear you, and they’ll be rubbering around in a minute! Please don’t laugh, Frank!”
“How can I help it?” gasped Merry, trying to repress his mirth. “It is too ludicrous! And you really thought I must be running after a girl, or girls, because I have acted odd! Oh, Jack!”
“Well, now, you must confess that I had reasons. Rattleton and Browning think so, too.”
“Do they? Well, let them think. It makes no difference to me. I will take the trouble to tell you that nothing of the kind has happened. Don’t be silly, old man. I appreciate all the good advice you were about to give me, but it isn’t needed.”
Diamond felt decidedly awkward, but Frank put him at his ease with a few words. The Virginian apologized, but Merry assured him that apologies were not needed.
“Perhaps to-morrow, or the next day,” he said, “I may have something to tell you.”
“If you are in danger——” began Jack.
“One never knows when danger may come,” interrupted Frank.
“You seldom carry a revolver. When you do——”
“It is liable to be needed.”
“And you needed it to-night?”
“Rather. I used it.”
Merry would make no further explanation, and Diamond went to bed that night much mystified and not a little troubled.
It was not at all remarkable that Frank Merriwell did not sleep very well that night. Surely, it would have been remarkable if he had. His slumbers were broken by dreams of blood-red stars, men in black, and a pair of large, sinewy, evil hands. In his dreams, he fought again and again to keep those hands from his throat.
In the morning, his friends noticed that he looked worn and unlike himself. Diamond, perhaps, thought most of it, and he decided that Merry must be in some serious trouble. Jack longed to urge Frank to unbosom himself, but felt that it might be better to wait till Merry should do so of his own accord. After breakfast, Merriwell began pegging away at his studies, much to the satisfaction of Tutor Maybe. Browning, Diamond, and Rattleton went out for an “airing.”
Midway in the forenoon a card was brought Frank. On it was engraved the name, “Murat de Villefort.” Beneath the name was written, with a lead-pencil, “Justice calls!” Murat de Villefort proved to be a tall, slender, supple-appearing man, with a coal-black mustache and imperial. His face was rather harsh and stern, but his manners were pleasant and acceptable.
Frank surveyed the man critically, wondering if he could be another impostor.
“Monsieur Merriwell,” said the visitor, “I trust you will be glad of the opportunity to get rid of your charge.”
“Of what do you speak?” asked Frank evasively.
“I speak of that for which I have called.”
“You will have to speak still more plainly, monsieur.”
“Excuse me,” said M. de Villefort coldly. “I fear you are demanding too much. You have but to discharge your duty, and deliver it into my hands.”
“When I am certain it will be discharging my duty, I may deliver the ‘it’ of which you speak. You are not the first who has sought it.”
“I am not?”
“No.”
“But you have not let it go?” cried the man in apparent alarm. “Don’t tell me you have let it pass from your hands!Mon Dieu!If you have, all is ruined!”
He seemed very sincere in his alarm.
“I assure you that nothing passes from my hands till I am certain it passes into the possession of the proper person.”
De Villefort seemed relieved. He drew a deep breath, saying:
“I feared for a moment that you had been deceived into giving it up to some impostor.”
“Impostors do not succeed very well with me, monsieur.”
“You are very shrewd, Monsieur Merriwell,” bowed the Frenchman, in a flattering manner. “It was fortunate for justice that you were chosen as the guardian of such treasure.”
“Thank you. Then you know nothing of my encounter with one who sought to obtain it from me?”
“Nothing, monsieur. When did this happen?”
“Last night. In a little shop not far from Gare St. Lazare.”
“And were you given the sign?”
“In part.”
“By whom?”
“One who called himself Claude Bruant, and claimed to be known as the Strangler.”
De Villefort started.
“The Strangler?” he cried. “A desperate wretch, who has been well paid by the enemies of justice to do their vile work! And you escaped his hands?”
“I am here.”
“I see. It is remarkable. You are very wonderful. How did you escape?”
“With the aid of this,” said Merry, quietly taking his revolver from his pocket. “I doubt much if the Strangler ever has much use of one of his hands again, as I shattered his arm with a bullet.”
Again De Villefort complimented Frank in a most profuse manner.
“Justice owes you a greater debt than it can ever repay,” he declared. “If the captive of Devil’s Island ever escapes, it may be that he will owe his salvation to you.”
“You are complimentary, indeed, M. de Villefort. I assure you, I appreciate your words very highly.”
And still Frank made no move to deliver the little ball into the man’s hands, for De Villefort had not given the complete signal. The man held out his hand.
“Now, I presume, you will answer the call of justice, Monsieur Merriwell.”
Frank smiled coolly.
“Perhaps as I answered it last night.”
De Villefort frowned.
“This is no time for delay,” he said sternly. “With me, time is precious.”
“Thus far, then, you have wasted it,” declared Frank, growing more and more suspicious.
All at once, as if struck by a sudden thought, the Frenchman flung out his hand, with a strange gesture. An instant later, he lifted that hand to his eyes, saying:
“Justice calls.”
It was the signal, and, at last, it had been given correctly. It came as a surprise to Frank, for he had begun to believe that De Villefort would fail to give it. Merry hesitated, for, even though the signal had been given, he felt a strange reluctance to part with the precious ball delivered into his hands by the dead Duke of Benoit de Sault.
The Frenchman lowered his eyes, and stood looking at the youth expectantly, commandingly. Slowly, Frank felt in his pocket for the precious ball. He felt a great desire to know what secret it contained that might serve to bring justice to the wretched prisoner of Devil’s Island.
Merry drew the metal ball from his pocket, and the eyes of De Villefort glittered strangely when he saw it. The man seemed to be holding himself in check.
“Here it is,” said Frank regretfully. “I have thought that I should be glad to get rid of it, but now I part with it most reluctantly, I confess.”
Then he looked up suddenly, and surprised that strange, crafty, triumphant look in the glittering eyes of the Frenchman. It gave Frank a shock. It was as if some one had shouted into his ears, “Beware—beware! He is fooling you!” Frank had been on the point of delivering up the mysterious ball, but now he hesitated.
De Villefort became aware that something had aroused the suspicions of the shrewd American. And then, like a flash, the Frenchman’s arm darted out, and his fingers snatched the ball from Frank! That act told Frank Merriwell as plainly as words that the man had no right to the tiny sphere.
“Thank you, Monsieur Merriwell!” cried Murat de Villefort triumphantly. “You have guarded the treasure well, and you may be consoled to know it has reached good hands at last.”
He laughed outright, and that laugh was as if he had struck Merriwell between the eyes. It removed the last doubt from Frank’s mind. Although the man had given the signal, he had no right to the metal ball. The precious sphere had fallen into the hands of the enemies of Dreyfus!
That ball had brought nothing but trouble and danger to Frank, and almost any other person would have felt gladness to get rid of it, especially as he could know he had fulfilled his promise to the dead duke. Not so Frank Merriwell. In an instant flashed before his eyes a vision of the poor wretch on the burning rock of Devil’s Island, doomed to spend the remainder of his days there, just because that tiny ball had fallen into hands for whom it was never intended!
That was enough.
Murat de Villefort had been swift in his movements, but Frank was equally swift. He sprang upon the man, with the fierceness of a panther. Then began a sharp and terrible struggle for the possession of the tiny ball.