“A MORT, ESPION!”
“’Sh!”
With a gesture of alarm and a quick look around, the young man grasped
Frank’s arm.
“Be careful!” he warned, speaking in a low tone, the vapid expression
having vanished from his face. “I recognized you, and I thought I would
try my disguise on you. I do not wish to be known here.”
Frank was surprised, but repressed any expression of his feelings.
“I knew, the moment I set eyes on you, that I had seen you before,” he
said, “and your get-up is so thoroughly English that I did not know but
you were an Englishman, or an Anglo-maniac.”
“Then you think my make-up good?” asked the young man, rather anxiously.
“Excellent.”
“And my English accent?”
“Great.”
“I am glad to hear it. But you have sharp eyes. You are a remarkable
boy, and I knew it when I interviewed you after your wonderful escape
from being cast from the cupola of the _World_ building by an enemy who
was trying to kill you. How long have you been in Paris?”
“Two weeks.”
“Took in London on your way, I suppose?”
“I have not yet seen London, but shall visit it later. I have been
traveling in South America and Africa.”
The young man lifted his eyebrows and regarded Frank with fresh
interest.
“That’s queer. You seem to be rather original in the thing you do. Don’t
think I quite understand you.”
“I be gol derned ef I understand anything uv this air business!” said
Ephraim, in bewilderment. “I’m twisted, by thutter!”
“Permit me to introduce Mr. Harvey Wynne, a newspaper reporter. Mr.
Wynne, Mr. Gallup, of Vermont, a Yankee boy to the backbone, and a
traveling companion of mine.”
Ephraim shook hands with Wynne, but still seemed dazed.
“And you ain’t no Englishman, arter all?” he asked.
“Not much,” smiled Wynne, “although I am passing as such here, and I
wish to be known as Arthur Lumley, of London. Here is a card with my
correct name and the paper I am employed upon.”
He gave each of the boys a card, on which was engraved “Harvey Wynne,
Special Correspondent, New York.” Frank placed the card in his pocket.
“You must have an object in wishing to be known by a name other than
your own,” said Merriwell.
“I have.”
Wynne looked around. The throngs were weaving along the broad walks, and
no one seemed to pay the least attention to the two boys and the young
man at the corner table in front of the Café de la Paix. The Americans
at the table near at hand were talking and laughing loudly. The
Frenchmen at the other tables were sipping their drinks, smoking their
cigars, and watching the people who were passing. They talked animatedly
among themselves, with expressive gestures and shrugs, but did not lift
their voices harshly after the manner of the wine-flushed Americans.
All the crowd seemed filled with a feeling of jollity. Men and women
saluted each other gayly. It was the night after the Grand Prix, and
everybody wished to be considered a winner at the races. The pompous
gentlemen of the boulevards who cut their white goatees as do military
men of the Second Empire, hoping that the ruddiness of their cheeks,
which is due to excessive wine-drinking, will be attributed to the suns
of Tunis or Algiers, were much less pompous than usual. Old men wore a
boyish air, and boys were more boyish than their wont.
Seeing no one was observing them, Wynne said, speaking in a low tone:
“I have been sent here by my paper on a rather delicate mission.”
Although Frank’s curiosity was aroused, he asked no questions, simply
raising his eyebrows.
“I think I can trust you,” said the young correspondent. “I am not in
the habit of talking much about my business, but I have a premonition
that I am going to get into trouble, and I feel a strong desire to
confide in some one.”
“Anything you tell us in confidence will be regarded as sacred, Mr.
Wynne,” declared Frank.
“That’s right, b’gosh!” vigorously nodded Ephraim.
“I believe so, and I am going to tell you my mission here. I have been
sent to investigate these recent bomb-throwing outrages, and to discover
the strength, secrets, and members of the secret society of anarchists
known to have their headquarters in this city. A somewhat delicate
mission, as you will admit.”
“Decidedly so.”
“But what makes it all the more delicate is the fact that my mission
here is known to the very men I have been sent to watch, and I have
reasons to believe they have spotted me for assassination.”
“Well, that certainly is a most interesting state of affairs. You will
have to get out of France.”
“Not till I have carried out the work for which I was sent here,” came
resolutely from Wynne’s lips. “They may kill me, but they cannot
frighten me away.”
“Gol derned ef that ain’t the kind uv stuff!” exclaimed Ephraim, with
satisfaction. “That air is Yankee Doodle to the backbone! By thunder, I
ruther like yeour style, Mister Wynne!”
Wynne smiled a bit, saying:
“Easy with that name, for you cannot tell what ears are listening. Call
me Lumley, please.”
“All right, Mr. Lumley; I’ll call ye anything that suits yeou.”
“Now,” said the young newspaper man, “I will explain just why I decided
to make a confidant of you lads. You see, I have——”
A woman brushed past the table, and a bit of paper fluttered from her
hand, falling before the boys. On the paper something was written in
red. Frank caught it up and read:
“_A mort, espion!_” (To death, spy.)
“Who threw it?” palpitated Wynne, excitedly.
“That woman going there!” Frank quickly answered. “See, the one glancing
over her shoulder. She wears a veil. No, by Jove!—it is a mask!”
“Then I’m after her,” breathed the young newspaper correspondent. “Will
see you later—perhaps.”
Away he went in pursuit of the strange woman, and both were quickly
swallowed up by the moving throng.
For some moments after Wynne’s departure both boys sat still, looking
toward the spot where he was last seen. Ephraim was the first to speak:
“Gol dern my hide!” he muttered. “We’ve faound something interestin’
this evenin’, an’ that’s sure es apples make cider.”
“That’s what we have,” nodded Frank, with an expression of satisfaction,
not unmingled with dismay. “But we did not find out where the fellow is
stopping, and he did not ask us where we put up. He may not be able to
find us again, if he should want to, and we may look for him in vain.”
“That’s so.”
“He may be hurrying to his death at this minute.”
“Did yeou notice that air paper dropped right daown in front uv yeou?”
“Yes, it fluttered to my side of the table in falling.”
“Darned ef it didn’t look to me es if it was meant fer yeou all the
time.”
“That is not possible. That masked woman must be connected with the
anarchists, and there is no reason in the world why I should be regarded
as a spy.”
“Unless it was because yeou was talkin’ with Wynne. The paper may have
been meant ez a warnin’ fer ye, so yeou wouldn’t have anything to do
with him.”
“I do not think it was meant for me at all. But come, we have remained
here long enough. It is getting dark, and I am growing hungry.”
“Be yeou going back to the hotel?”
“I think not. We will dine out doors to-night. I have heard it is the
fashion after Grand Prix. We will go to the Champs Elysées, and visit
the shows after we eat. Come on.”
The Champs Elysées was blazing with light and alive with merry people,
who were dining beneath the trees, which were all aglow with Chinese
lanterns.
Women were sitting bareheaded everywhere, chatting, laughing, eating,
drinking and chaffing with their male companions. Then men were
immaculate in evening dress, dazzling white shirts and shiny silk hats.
Already it seemed that every table was taken, for it was Grand Prix
night, and all Paris was dining outdoors. From the Place de la Concorde
up to the Avenue Matignon stretched the white tables with their little
lamps, and the bottles of red wine flickering in the light.
It was like fairyland. The fountains were splashing and tinkling, bands
of music were heard everywhere, and the voices of singers came from the
café chantants, sounding shrilly above the chorus of rattling china.
Hundreds of people were laughing and talking, and on the avenue the cabs
rumbled by, their lamps approaching and disappearing like thousands of
flickering fireflies.
From one restaurant to another the boys wandered, finding all the tables
filled, much to their dismay.
“Who would have thought it could be like this so early in the evening!”
said Frank, disconsolately. “There are hundreds waiting for tables
already.”
“An’ I’m hongry enough to eat a stew made uv old boot-tops,” declared
the boy from Vermont. “Seein’ all these folks stowin’ the good fodder
away makes me hongrier. I’ve gotter eat purty soon, ur I’ll lay right
daown an’ cough up the ghost, Frank.”
“We’ll try the Ambassadeurs,” said Frank. “It’s the best place I know
of, and I don’t suppose there is one chance in a thousand of getting a
table there; but it will do no harm to try.”
So to the Ambassadeurs they went, and, by a rare piece of fortune, they
chanced to obtain a table.
“Gol derned ef this ain’t slick,” chuckled the Yankee lad, as he settled
down in a satisfied way. “Here we kin eat, and we’ll see a show at the
same time.”
“Well, I don’t know as we’ll see much at this distance from the stage,”
said Frank; “but we can hear the music of the songs, without being
bothered to make out the words. This beats the roof gardens of New York,
for it is on the ground, and there’s gravel under foot and trees over
our heads.”
It was indeed a strange and inviting place to dine. Between them and the
mirror-backed stage were rows of boxes on either side. They were at the
extreme rear, where there was a wide balcony. The whole place glowed
with light, for there were gas jets everywhere. The stage was loaded
with flowers, and the entertainment seemed to please, for the audience
was applauding it boisterously. Indeed, the audience was so good-natured
that it seemed equally pleased with trained dogs and monkeys at one
minute, or a singer at the next.
During his stay in Paris, Frank had noticed a peculiarity of the French
amusement seekers—they seemed determined to be pleased. At the café
chantants, an artist was sure of tumultuous applause; but a buffoon and
horseplay awakened equal enthusiasm.
After a time Frank found a waiter at his elbow, and gave his order. The
order was filled with surprising quickness, and the boys began to enjoy
themselves, chatting, listening to bits of conversation, or harkening to
the distant singing.
In this manner the time passed swiftly. They discussed their recent
meeting with Harvey Wynne, and wondered if they would see him again.
They speculated on what Professor Scotch was doing just then, and if he
had found the Moulin Rouge suitable for them to visit.
Finally, the last course was served, and they were feeling more than
satisfied with themselves and everything else. Those who had finished
nearby had lighted cigars or cigarettes, and both boys felt a strong
temptation to follow the example.
“If it wasn’t for one thing, I think I would smoke,” said Frank.
“What is that air one thing?” asked Ephraim, curiously.
“I hope to enter college when I return home, and I do not wish to get in
the habit of smoking, for they say it is not easy to break off at
college, and I mean to take part in athletics. Smoking injures a
fellow’s wind.”
“Then don’t yeou smoke, Frank, and yeou’ll make ’em hustle when yeou git
inter college. Yeou was hot stuff at Fardale, and yeou’ll be hotter now.
They’ll have to hustle to keep within hailin’ distance uv yeou.”
Frank smiled.
“I take a great interest in athletics and sports of all kinds,” he said,
“and I could not go to college without making a try for a chance on the
teams.”
“Yeou’ll git there. Why, yeou was a bird at baseball—could pitch ur
ketch, ur play any other old place. And when it came to
football—jeewizh! but yeou was a howler!”
At this moment a most startling thing occurred. Down on the table
between them dropped a spluttering, smoking something. It sent out a
spray of sparks, and it filled every one near with the utmost terror.
“_Le bombe! le bombe!_” was the wild cry that went up, and there was a
mad scamper to get out of the way.
Men shouted hoarsely and women shrieked. Everything was cast into uproar
and confusion in the twinkling of an eye.
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