It was possible he had caused the star to be made by his own directions. Or, perhaps, having found it as he claimed, he had woven around it the weird story which he had revealed to Frank.
Surely, it was easy enough for a Frenchman who was mentally unsound to have such conceptions, and to believe in them. But the most remarkable part of it all was that the duke should die on that night which he claimed completed the tenth day of grace allotted to him by the Black Brothers.
Frank had read that sometimes human beings become so firmly convinced that they must die at a certain time that they bring about the thing they fear. Had this been the case with the duke?
It was possible; and, still, Merry could not quite bring himself to believe the whole thing had been an hallucination of the dead man’s diseased brain. He had promised the duke to guard the metal ball with his life, and he resolved to do so now, even though Laforce was dead.
As he sat there, staring at the tiny ball, Wellington Maybe, his tutor, came softly into the room.
“Mr. Merriwell,” said the little man in a small voice, “I think to-day we will review——”
“Nothing,” spoke Frank abruptly, putting the ball back into his pocket. “I have studied faithfully for the past three days, and to-day I shall take a rest.”
“But——”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it, Mr. Maybe. You are at liberty to spend the day as you please. I heard you say yesterday that you wished to visit the art galleries at Versailles. You will have a good opportunity to-day.”
Mr. Maybe knew it was useless to argue with Merry, when his mind was made up, and so he did not attempt it further, but withdrew, shaking his head, leaving Frank once more to his thoughts.