“Who's there?” the Frenchman called out.
“Message for you, sir,” the Hawk answered.
Footsteps crossed the room, the key turned in the lock—and, in a flash, the Hawk, slipping on his mask, had pushed the door open, closed it behind him, and the Frenchman was staring into the muzzle of the automatic.
“Mon Dieu!” gasped the Frenchman faintly.
“That's right!” said the Hawk coolly, “Don't speak any louder than that, or——” He shrugged his shoulders significantly, as he locked the door.
The Frenchman, white-faced, was evidently fighting for his nerve.
“What—what is it?” he stammered. “What is it that you want?”
It was almost a reassuring smile that flickered on the Hawk's lips, and his voice did not belie it—it was purely conversational in its tones.
“I was reading in the paper this afternoon about the famous Doctor Meunier. I'm a bit of a scientist myself, in an amateur way, and I'm particularly interested in radium when there's enough of it to——”
“Ah! My radium! That is what you want!” cried out the Frenchman wildly. The duplicate bag lay on the bed. He ran for it, and snatched it up. “No! That you shall not have! You come to steal my radium, you——”