“Oh no, young gentleman,” said a voice. “What are you doing here?”
For answer Frank stepped quickly to the window and threw open one of the shutters, the light flashing in and showing him the face of the man he had passed in the Park, the man who had followed him into the street, and seen him enter the house.
“Oh, I see,” said Frank contemptuously,—“a spy.”
“A gentleman in the King’s service, boy, holding his Majesty’s warrant, and doing his duty. Why have you come here?”
“Why have I come to my own house? Go back out of here directly. How came the housekeeper to let you in?”
“She did not, my good boy,” said the man quietly; “and she did not put up the chain.”
“Then how did you get in, sir?”
“With my key of course—into your house.”
“Oh, this is insufferable!” panted Frank. “While my father is away it is my house. I am his representative, and I don’t believe his Majesty would warrant a miserable spy to use false keys to get into people’s homes.”
“You have a sharp tongue for a boy,” said the man coolly; “but I must know why you have come, all the same.”