“L’espion!”
The word was hissed through the gloom, and it put Frank on the alert in a moment.
Somebody had called him a spy! What did it mean? All around him, men rose up, and, in that moment, he realized he had walked into grave peril. Out in the passage, a door opened, admitting a faint gleam of light. Somebody passed through the door, and Frank was certain he recognized Bruce Browning hurriedly leaving.
“Browning!” he called. “Browning, stop!”
He leaped toward the passage.
Slam! The door closed, and the departing person was gone.
Bang! Another door slammed in his face, and he was kept from entering the passage.
Like a flash, Frank whirled about. Somewhere, he fancied, he heard a person hammering on a door, the blows echoing along the closed passage. He was not armed, and he realized that some sort of danger beset him. It was startling, because it was so unexpected and mysterious. Out from the men who had risen, one advanced. Even in the gloom of the place, to which Frank’s eyes were not yet accustomed, there seemed something familiar about this person.
“It is Frank Merriwell!” exclaimed an exulting, triumphant voice. “We are met again!”
The hammering which echoed through the passage became a crash, as if a door had fallen before an assault. Then followed something like a sodden blow, and a groan. What queer thing was happening beyond the door at Frank Merriwell’s back?