His enunciation of the last word probably excited the wrath of Franz, for he came a step nearer, with an aggressive sneer.
“My name’s Jimson, Mr. Cop, an’ I’m a friend of the family. Anything else ye want ter know?”
With a shrug of the shoulder, Vernet turned toward Papa once more.
“I’d like to speak with you alone, Papa Francoise,” he said significantly.
The mood of mocking insolence seemed deserting Franz, and a wrathful surliness manifested itself in the tone with which he addressed Papa.
“He’d like ter see ye alone, old Beelzebub, d’ye hear?”
Papa glanced hesitatingly from one to the other. He seemed to fear both the bound detective at his feet and the surly son who stood near him, with the menacing weapon in his hand, and growing rage and suspicion in his countenance.
Mamma’s quick eye noted the look of suspicion and she interposed.
“Ye can speak afore this gentleman, Mr. Cop; he’s a very intimate friend.”
A look of annoyance flashed in the eyes of Van Vernet. He hesitated a moment, and then said slowly: