“Jove!” exclaimed Jack.
“I fell in with a New York newspaper reporter, who had been sent over to investigate and write up the recent bomb outrages in this city. Being seen with him, I was spotted by the anarchists, who regarded him as a spy. I was warned to leave France, but didn’t fancy being driven out that way.”
“Well, that was interesting!” ejaculated Diamond.
“Rather!” drawled Bruce.
“It was hot stuff!” said Rattleton.
“It was the night after Grand Prix, the great French horse-race, that I received my first warning. It came from a masked woman. Wynne, the reporter, followed her, but she slipped him. On the night after Grand Prix, all Paris turns out to enjoy itself, and be gay. It was at the Jardin de Paris that I saw her again, in the midst of the mob that was dancing and singing there in the open air. I caught her by the wrist, and she tried to stab me.”
“Whew!” again whistled Rattleton.
“Huah!” once more grunted Browning.
“Jove!” was Diamond’s repeated ejaculation.
“Her friends were on hand to aid her, and she managed to break away, and slip me, as she had Wynne. Afterward, at a place called the Red Flag, I ran across Wynne. Anarchists resorted there, and they tried to stop us both. Wynne got away, but I was roped in. Somebody rapped the senses out of me, and I came to myself in a dungeon-like place, a captive.”