“I deny nothing!” she proudly cried. “You may think what you like! I have warned you. Once, for the last time, I tell you your doom is sealed!”
She had closed her fan, and now she leaned across the table, reaching as if she would tap Frank on the wrist with it, by the way of emphasis. It was his left wrist she attempted to touch with the fan.
And he had no warning thrill to tell him of the frightful peril that was so near.
A hand came down over the woman’s shoulder, grasped her wrist, held it! Another hand snatched that fan from her grasp before it had touched Frank Merriwell!
“Even the rattlesnake gives warning before striking!” said a deep, well-known voice.
“Mr. Noname!” exclaimed Frank.
It was the Mystery who had suddenly appeared and snatched the fan from the woman’s hand.
“Mr. Noname and Mademoiselle Nameless!” murmured Jack Diamond, looking from one to the other. “Which is the greater mystery?”
The woman had fallen back in her chair, and she was staring at the Mystery through the twin holes in her sable mask, her bosom rising and falling tumultuously. The Man Without a Name fixed her with a steady, piercing, accusing look. There was horror and condemnation in his gaze, and she seemed to feel it.
“When the enemies of Dreyfus are forced to get a woman to do their wretched work of murder, they have fallen pretty low!” said the man, with deep contempt.