Lenoir was striding up and down the room like an actor, his head bowed on his breast, his attitude seeming to indicate that he was deep in meditation. It was plain that he sought to give the impression that he was putting together another “poem.”
But Frank caught a hasty glance that was shot now and then from beneath the poet’s heavy eyebrows, and there seemed something besides meditation in those glances.
No longer was the boy inclined to doubt that the men around him were capable of committing almost any crime.
For what were they waiting?
Frank sought to catch Wynne’s eye again. He longed to signal that they should leave the place together, and make haste to leave it at once.
Frank did not want to get up and leave Wynne there, and he felt sure that the fellow was remaining with a hope of discovering something that would be of service to him.
At last Frank decided that it was best to start to leave, hoping Wynne would follow. He paid all charges against him, and then, having thanked Bornier for his courtesy, began to bid the rascals good-night.
Durant arose to his feet.
“You should not go so very soon, my friend,” he said, and there was a sneer in his face and his voice.
“It is late,” said Frank, “and my guardian may already be on his way to police headquarters to notify them that I am missing.”