“Zis time you die!”
Durant flung up the hand that held the revolver, a spot of smoke and fire leaped from the muzzle, and the boy went down.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the little anarchist, in a manner that showed he was half a madman. “Zat time he be feexed!”
“Not quite!”
Frank had dropped in time to avoid the bullet, and now he came up, grasping the back of a chair. This weapon he swung about his head and hurled at Durant.
The Frenchman put up his hand, but he was not in time to ward off the chair, and it knocked him down.
One glance Frank gave the fellow, and he saw that Durant lay as if stunned.
Then the boy turned his attention to the trapped detective and the man with the deadly hands.
The captive’s eyes were starting from their sockets, and his face was turning purple. Already he was too far gone to make more than a feeble resistance.
Frank saw that he must do something instantly, or Luptus would finish the unfortunate wretch in his grasp.