It had fallen upon him to do the bloody work of putting the spy out of the way, and he was coming to do the deed.
The light flickered over the dark face of the anarchist, making it look more evil than before. One look at him would have told any one that he was bent on some dreadful piece of business. There was a frightful expression in his beady eyes, and his dry lips had parted a bit, so his yellow teeth showed beneath the narrow little black mustache.
The anarchist reached the foot of the stairs and turned toward the boy. He came forward with a steady step, which showed he did not shrink from his task, horrible though it was.
Frank glanced about for Mademoiselle Mystere. She seemed to have vanished completely, but there were dark nooks in the cellar where she might be lurking.
The lamplight caused Durant’s small figure to throw a huge shadow along the ground, up the wall, and against the ceiling overhead. The shadow kept close at his heels, like a crouching giant. It seemed likely to fall upon him and crush him. It hovered like a black and evil thing.
Durant saw the boy, and he was soon crouching at Frank’s side. He was astonished to see the gag was no longer in Merriwell’s mouth.
“How did you get it out?” he asked, wonderingly. “I thought it was put there to stay until removed.”
“Oh, it was put in hastily,” said the boy. “It came out easily enough.”
Durant scowled. He did not like this immediate reply, and he was astonished to find the captive did not beg or cry out in terror.
“Well, it makes no difference,” he growled. “If you were to yell your head off, no one would hear you outside this cellar.”