“And then?”
“If you agree to become one of us, I will lay the matter before the brotherhood. If you do not——”
Durant ended with a suggestive gesture with the knife in his hand.
“Ten seconds is a short time.”
“Think—not talk!”
Durant bent over the helpless lad, clutching his shoulder with his free hand. The wicked knife was held in a position for a sweep across the boy’s throat.
Where was Mademoiselle Mystere?
Then a nerve-breaking thought came to Frank. Perhaps the woman had been sent there by the villains to excite his hopes—to torture him thus, and then to desert him to his fate. Perhaps Durant was working on the same scheme. If Frank said he would join the anarchists, it was possible the little wretch would laugh in his face, and then cut his throat.
“Your answer,” demanded Durant—“is it yes or no?”
“No!”