“Then you think the wound on his wrist may have——Oh, pshaw! That must be nonsense, Frank! That could not have killed him. Those pains were brought on by the excitement of the encounter with the woman. His heart had been wrong all along, and it failed him that night.”
“Still,” said Frank Merriwell, “you must admit it is most singular that that night was the tenth one after he received a star exactly like this blood-red one I hold in my hand.”
Diamond was more deeply impressed than he wished to acknowledge. He did not wish to believe that Merry, his friend, had been selected as a victim by the dreaded Black Brothers.
He had been with Frank when the red star fell on Merry’s plate one day at a queer little restaurant, where they were taking lunch. At the time he observed the remarkable change that came over his friend, who, having been gay and light-hearted, suddenly grew sober and stern. Jack thought about this now. He thought of other things which had seemed so mysterious to him, and he did not wonder at Merry’s strange acts. Still, it was most remarkable that Frank, a stranger and a foreigner, had been drawn into the affair.
Jack’s sympathy was with the unfortunate prisoner of Devil’s Island, believing Dreyfus had been unfairly and unjustly condemned, but, hot-blooded though he was, he felt certain he would have a care not to permit himself to become involved as Frank had been. But Diamond was not one to reproach a friend, or to desert him in the hour of trouble. He was ready to stand by Frank through any peril.
That Frank was in great peril he could no longer doubt. That Frank had been condemned to die by the Anti-Dreyfus League was apparent. Jack’s soul rebelled at the thought that such a thing could be in a city like Paris. And it was terrible to fancy that Merry might come to his end as had the Duke of Benoit du Sault, without a single mark being left on his body to tell how his death had been accomplished.
Jack leaned across the table and spoke earnestly.
“Why should you stay here in Paris, Frank, and wait for those murderous wretches to accomplish their dastardly work? Why don’t you get out? There is nothing to keep us here. In fact, I am beginning to feel that I have seen enough of this place.”
“And it was only yesterday,” retorted Frank, with a smile, “that you said you could live a year in Paris without getting tired.”
“Did I say that?”