“Some one should go down and see why he is so long,” suggested Lenoir. “I am ready to do so. Shall I go?”
“Go on, go on,” urged one and all.
The poet-burglar arose to his feet. (He was no burglar at all, and Montparnasse was not a pickpocket; that was a little fiction of Bornier’s to interest those who visited his place.) He turned toward the door behind which stood Frank Merriwell and his masked companion.
“He is coming!” whispered Mademoiselle Mystere. “All is lost! We shall not be able to escape!”
“Follow me!” returned the dauntless boy. “We will make a break for liberty, and, taking them by surprise, as we shall, we may succeed. It is one chance in a thousand; but we must take that chance.”
Frank nerved himself for the struggle that was to come. He gripped the stone in hand, ready to bring it down with crushing force on the head of Lenoir.
Tinkle-tinkle-ting! From some hidden spot a tiny bell rang out, causing the anarchists to start and look at each other. Lenoir paused on his way to the door and turned back.
“It is Verlain—it must be,” said Montparnasse. “What can have caused him to leave his post and come here at this hour?”
“Something is up!” declared Vaugirad. “Admit him quickly.”
Two of them hastened from the room, and Frank drew a long, long breath of momentary relief.