“By Jawve!”
Harvey Wynne started and stared at the fierce little man in the doorway as if thoroughly astounded.
“By Jawve!” repeated the newspaper correspondent, acting his part perfectly. “What cawn be the meaning of this? It is blooming singular, don’t yer know.”
Frank knew well enough what it meant. It meant trouble, and the boy seemed to feel that it was trouble of no ordinary nature.
Still Frank was cool and deliberate. He turned to the proprietor of the place, a ring of indignation in his voice, as he demanded:
“Is this your boasted protection to visitors, Monsieur Bornier? Am I to be forcibly detained and robbed in your place?”
Bornier was distressed. It was plain that he did not like the turn affairs were taking, and yet he seemed unable to interfere. He thrust out his hand in a helpless protest, but Durant cut in, his voice rasping like a coarse file:
“Sit down, monsieur. You will not be robbed of your money, but you have something that you consider far more valuable.”
Frank did not mistake the meaning of the little wretch. If it was not a case of money, then, surely, it must be one of life.
And now the boy felt his fighting blood rising. No longer was he awed by his uncanny surroundings, and the threatening shadow that had seemed to hang like a thundercloud over the place.