And he actually looked around, as if expecting to see the Man Without a Name near at hand. Whether Frank was in danger or not, Mr. Noname did not appear.
“I have seen nothing of him since the night he led me out of the trap into which Mart Brattle had lured Browning and myself.”
And it really seemed that the strange man would appear if there was any great danger for Frank. Again Merry’s hand went back to his revolver. He took it from his hip pocket, and dropped it into a side pocket of the coat he wore.
“It’s ten to one I am making a fool of myself,” he said. “I am an American, and there is no reason why the Black Brothers should select me for a victim. I am not dangerous enough for them to feel that my life must come to an end.”
Then he entered the shop.
An old man, with spectacles set astride his nose, was in the front room. He bowed to Frank, saying softly:
“Monsieur, the gentleman waits for you in that room.”
He pointed to a narrow door that was standing open. It was plain now that Frank had not been deceived in following the man who had spoken to him before the Café de la Paix. That man had known he would follow, and the old man in the shop had expected him to enter.
Wondering what would happen next, Frank passed through the narrow door. The man he had followed was standing in the middle of the small room, beside a table, on which stood a lighted lamp. He bowed gravely as Merriwell appeared. He had a thin, sharp face, and a pair of unpleasant eyes.
“Monsieur,” he said, “justice calls!”