This was true.
“When the woman reached out to tap Frank Merriwell on the wrist, she pressed on the fan to cause the needle-point to project. If she had struck him, she would have pricked his flesh with that point.”
“Go on!” urged Merry breathlessly, his face growing pale as he anticipated what was coming.
“The point of that needle is covered with a strange and subtle poison. Your blood would have been inoculated with it. From that moment, unless the piece of flesh about the needle-prick had been cut out, and the wound cauterized, the poison would have been working in your system. You would have heeded the wound on your wrist very little, or not at all, for it would not have swelled, or seemed troublesome. After a time, you would have felt pains in the region of your heart. Then it would have been too late for any earthly power to save you!”
“Good God!” gasped Jack Diamond, overcome by his feelings. “Can such a thing be true?”
“It is true,” affirmed the Mystery.
“Then, for Heaven’s sake, Frank, let’s get out of France as quickly as we can! If the prick of a needle will cause death, there is no telling when we may be done to death!”
Jack Diamond’s agitation was not strange, under the circumstances. It would have been far more remarkable if he had shown no agitation.
Frank sat there, staring at that fan. For the first time, he fully realized how close to death he had been, and his face was a trifle pale.
“You are absolutely positive of what you say?” he finally asked.