“Harsh words, Monsieur American!”
“But true. You know it. You thought to deceive me, but you have failed.”
“Oh, come,” purred the man in an oily manner. “Why is all this? I came to you in the manner that you expected one to come. I have done my part; do yours. Justice calls.”
“It is useless for you to repeat those words. From your lips, they are meaningless.”
Frank had retreated to the door. Now he placed a hand behind him, and made a discovery. The door was closed! It had swung quietly to behind him.
The Frenchman smiled into his face, and he realized that he was trapped!
CHAPTER XI.
BRUANT, THE STRANGLER.
Frank Merriwell removed his hand from his coat pocket, and his fingers gripped the butt of a revolver, on the shining barrel of which the lamplight glinted. At that moment, he felt disgusted with himself because he had walked into the snare, and yet it was not strange he had done so, for the failure of the man to give the complete signal before the Café de la Paix had seemed natural enough, considering the publicity of the place. Naturally, Merry had reason that he should follow the man to some more secluded spot, where the complete signal would be given, and he would surrender the precious ball, without being seen by eyes that should know nothing of its whereabouts. But now it seemed plain that the man knew no more than the words of the signal, and that did not make it complete. This being the case, Frank had no thought of giving up the tiny ball.
The door had closed softly behind him, and he was alone in that room with the man he had followed there. His hand found the knob of the door, and he satisfied himself that it was fastened. Again the Frenchman smiled into his face, a smile of craft and triumph.