Frank wondered if Ephraim had returned safely to the hotel, and if the professor had found anything at the Moulin Rouge livelier than could be seen at the Jardin de Paris.
Then he thought of Harvey Wynne. What had become of the fellow? He had started in pursuit of the elusive woman in the mask. Had he overtaken her? If so, what had befallen Wynne?
He would have given something to meet the dauntless newspaper correspondent just then and compare notes with him. He fancied he could tell Wynne a few things of interest.
And so, wondering not a little over what had happened, he finally came to a place that he had once visited in company with a guide, who had agreed to take him to see “the thieves of Montmartre.” He had been in the guide’s care, and so none of the disreputable frequenters of the place had molested him, although he had paid well for the privilege of being taken there, going without Professor Scotch’s knowledge.
Frank remembered that he had seen some individuals in this place who looked like anarchists of the fierce and unwashed sort, and a sudden desire to visit the place once more took possession of him. He did not stop to think it over, but, almost before he realized what he was doing, he was rapping on the heavy door set in the dark wall.
Frank had noted the signal given by his guide, and he rapped in exactly the same manner.
In a few seconds a panel in the door slid open, and a ray of light shot into the boy’s face. Frank knew he was being inspected by Henri Bornier, the keeper of the Red Flag, as the place was called.
That inspection seemed to satisfy Bornier, for he opened the door and admitted the boy, although he asked:
“Why do you come alone? You should be with a guide. I know you. You were here four days ago.”
“That’s right,” nodded Frank, “and I did not come with a guide to-night because guides are not easy to find.”