Frank looked again. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes, and yet——
“I cannot be mistaken. That fellow is the red-handed wretch, Emile Durant. And he is here in London. His companion at this moment is the man I believe threw the bomb in Warrington Terrace.”
It did not take the boy long to put things together, and he began to understand the meaning of the mysterious attacks upon his life.
Durant hated Frank with undying hatred. He had seen the boy in London, and he had determined that Merriwell must die. It was possible that the first attempt on Frank’s life had been made in the Houses of Parliament. The infernal machine had been placed there to kill him, if possible, with the others who were expected to perish in the general destruction.
Another attempt had been made at the Derby, and it now seemed that it had been thwarted by ’Arry ’Awkins.
The third attempt had been made in Warrington Terrace.
Frank felt that the first warning he had received must have come from a friendly source. The writing was entirely different from that which was written in red ink and delivered after the Derby.
And now that he had found out one of his foes, who could have sent him the friendly warning?
Surely not ’Arry ’Awkins, the illiterate tout and skillful sneak-thief. That was not to be thought of for a moment. Frank wondered if Durant had traced him to London, or if the anarchist had fled from Paris, and had come upon him by accident in the English capital.
Frank knew he could have no more unscrupulous and deadly enemy than Emile Durant, who seemed to have become an anarchist because he knew it would afford him an opportunity to glut his thirst for bloodshed, destruction and ruin.