“You can prove nothing! Who will believe anything you may say, old fool! Give me that fan!”
She reached for it in a commanding manner. He leaned forward, as if to comply, but made a sudden motion, as if he would tap her on the wrist with the fan, as she had been about to tap Frank Merriwell when it was snatched from her hand. She jerked her hand back, with a low cry of terror!
Although the face of Mr. Noname remained as stern and grave as that of a stone image, a sound like a scornful, triumphant laugh escaped his lips.
“It’s all I ask,” he said. “Just hold out your wrist and permit me to tap you lightly with this fan.”
She made no move to do so.
“If you will do that,” said the man, “I’ll promise to restore the fan to you instantly.”
Still she sat silent. The waiter came with the drink she had ordered. She threw a piece of money on the table, then caught up the glass and swiftly swallowed its contents.
Immediately she seemed to recover her nerve.
“You can see that he is crazy, Monsieur Merriwell,” she said to Frank. “No one but a crazy man would make such a proposition.”
“You attempted to tap Frank Merriwell on the wrist with this fan, which you held in a peculiar manner. All I ask before restoring it to you is that I may tap you on the wrist in like manner.”