The strange man was dressed in black from his head to his feet. His hair and his beard were black as the raven’s wing, and his deep-set eyes seemed like pools of ink, while his face was pale as marble. His appearance caused the ruffians to desist for a moment from their attack on Frank. There was something terrible in the demeanor of the man who called himself Mr. Noname. Before him Martin Brattle shrank and cowered.
But one of the ruffians uttered a snarl, crying, in French:
“Down with them both! They are both spies!”
The mob crouched like tigers about to spring.
“Back!” rang out the deep voice of the mysterious man.
They paused.
“Back!” he cried, lifting one hand above his head. “I hold a bomb here, and, by the eternal heavens, I’ll drop it, and blow this building to atoms, if you do not keep off!”
That stopped them. They could see a round object in his uplifted hand, and a sudden fear seized upon them. There was something in his pose and manner that awed them.
“Now,” said the strange man, speaking to Frank Merriwell, “the time for you to depart has come. No one will lift a hand to stop you. The way is open.”
Frank realized that the Mystery had appeared at the proper moment to save him, and he was thankful, but cool.