IN DURANCE VILE.
This onslaught, so swift and unexpected, took Papa and Mamma completely
by surprise, and, for the moment, threw even Vernet off his guard.
"Scoundrel!" he exclaimed, while the menacing knife pressed against his
throat; "what does this mean?"
For answer, Franz shot a glance toward the two elder Francoises, and
said in a hoarse, unnatural whisper:
"Deek the cove;[1] he's no dark lantern!"
[1] Look at him.
"Eh!" from Papa, in a frightened gasp.
"Done!" from Mamma, in an angry hiss.
And then, as the two started forward, Vernet, realizing that this shrewd
ruffian had somehow penetrated his disguise, gathered all his strength
and began a fierce struggle for liberty.
As they writhed together upon the floor, Franz shot out another
sentence, this time without turning his head.
"A dead act," he hissed; "we're copped to rights!"
Which, being rendered into English, meant: "Combine the attack; we are
in danger of arrest."
And then the struggle became a question of three to one.
Vernet fought valiantly, but he lay at last captive under the combined
clutch of Papa and Franz, and menaced by the knife which Mamma, having
snatched it from the hand of her hopeful son, held above his head.
Instinctively the two elder outlaws obeyed the few words of command that
fell from the lips of their returned Prodigal; and in spite of his
splendid resistance, Van Vernet was bound hand and foot, a prisoner in
the power of the Francoises.
His clothing was torn and disarranged; his wig was all awry; and large
patches of his sable complexion had transferred themselves from his
countenance to the hands and garments of his captors.
"No dark lantern," indeed. The natural white shone in spots through its
ebony coating, and three people less fiercely in earnest than the
Francoises would have gone wild with merriment, so ludicrous was the
plight of the hapless detective.
"Now then," began Franz, in a low gutteral that caused Mamma to start,
and Papa to favor him with a stare of surprise; "now then, no tricks, my
cornered cop. You may talk, but--" and he glanced significantly from the
knife in Mamma's hand to the pistol now in his own,--"be careful about
raising yer voice; you've got pals in the street, maybe. You _may_ pipe
to them, but,--" with a click of the pistol,--"_ye're_ a dead man before
they can lift a hoof!"
Vernet's eyes blazed with wrath, but he maintained a scornful silence.
[Illustration: "In another moment, the two were upon the floor, Franz
Francoise uppermost!"--page 210.]
The three Francoises, without withdrawing their gaze from their
prisoner, consulted in harsh whispers. It was a brief consultation,
but it was long enough for Van Vernet to decide upon his course of
action.
"Now then, my bogus dark lantern," began Franz, who had evidently been
chosen spokesman for the trio, "what's yer business here?"
"Why don't you begin at the beginning?" retorted Vernet, scornfully.
"You have not asked who I am."
"Umph; we'll find out who ye air--when we want to. We know _what_ ye
air, and that's enough for us just at present."
"Might I be allowed to ask what you take me for?"
"Yes; a cop," retorted Franz, decidedly. "Enough said on that score;
now, what's yer lay?"
"I suppose," began Vernet, mockingly, "that you didn't hear the little
conversation between that nice old gent there and myself?"
"Look here," said Franz, with an angry gesture, "don't fool with _me_.
Ef you've got any business with me, say so."
"Don't bully," retorted Vernet, contemptuously. "You were not asleep
when I entered this room."
Franz seemed to hesitate and then said: "S'posin' I wasn't, wot's that
got to do with it?"
"If you were awake, you know my errand."
"Look here, Mister Cop,--" Franz handled his pistol as if strongly
tempted to use it,--"we'd better come to an understandin' pretty quick.
I am kinder lookin' for visits from chaps of your cloth. I come in here
tired, and a little muddled maybe, and flop down to get a snooze.
Somethin' wakes me and I get up, to see--you. I'm on the lay for a
'spot,' an' I've seen too many nigs to be fooled by yer git-up. So I
floor ye, an'--here ye air. Now, what d'ye want with me?"
"My good fellow," said Vernet, with an inconsequent laugh, "since you
have defined your position, I may, perhaps, enable you to comprehend
mine. Frankness for candor: First, then, I am not exactly a cop, as the
word goes, but I am a--a sort of private enquirer."
"A _detective_!" hissed Mamma; while Papa turned livid at the thought
the word "detective" always suggested to his mind.
"A detective, if you like," responded Vernet, coolly. "A _private_
detective, be it understood. My belligerent friend, you may be badly
wanted for something, and I hope you'll be found by the right parties,
but you're not in my line. Just now you would be an elephant on my
hands. You might be an ornament to Sing Sing or Auburn, if I had time to
properly introduce you there, but I've no use for you. My business is
with Papa Francoise here."
Perhaps it was the address itself, or may be the incongruity of the
haughty tone and the grotesque face of the speaker, that caused Franz
Francoise to give rein to a sudden burst of merriment, the signs of
which he seemed unable to suppress although no audible laughter escaped
his lips. He turned, at last, toward Papa and gasped, as if fairly
strangled with his own mirth:
"This kind and accommodatin' gent, wot I've so misunderstood, has got
business with ye, old top."
Papa came slowly forward, his face expressive of fear rather than
curiosity, followed by Mamma, fierce and watchful.
"You--you wanted _me_?" began Papa, hesitatingly.
"I have business with you, Papa Francoise. I want to talk with you
privately, for your interest and mine, ahem." He looked toward Franz,
and seeing the stolidity of this individual, inquired: "Who is that
gentleman?"
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:
"Does your intimate friend know anything about the affair that happened
at your late residence near Rag alley, Papa Francoise?"
It was probably owing to the fact that the fumes of his recent potations
were working still, with a secondary effect, and that from sleepy
inertness he was passing to a state of unreasoning disputatiousness,
that Franz, evidently by no means relieved at the transfer of Vernet's
attention from himself to Papa, seemed lashed into fury by the manner of
the former.
"May be I know about that affair, and may be I don't," he retorted
angrily. "Look here, coppy, you want to fly kind of light round me; I
don't like yer style."
"I didn't come here especially to fascinate you, so I am not
inconsolable. I might mention, however, by way of continuing our
charming frankness, that _your_ style has not commended itself to me."
And Vernet emphasized his statement by a jerk of his fetters. "Now
listen, my friends; I did not come here alone--half a dozen stout
fellows are near at hand. If I do not return to them in five minutes
more, you will see them here. If I call, you will see them sooner."
Franz raised the revolver to his eye and squinted along the barrel.
"Why don't you call, then?" he inquired.
"I don't want to make a fuss. My errand is a peaceable one. Unbind me;
give me ten minutes alone with Papa here, and I leave you,--you have
nothing to fear from me."
Franz shifted his position and seemed to hesitate.
"You can't keep me, and you dare not kill me," continued Vernet, noting
the impression he had made. "All of you are in hiding from the police,
and to kill an officer is conspicuous business--not like cracking the
skull of a rag-picker, Papa Francoise. As for you, my lad, you've got a
sort of State's-prison air about you. I could almost fancy you a chap I
saw behind the bars not long ago, serving out a long sentence."
He paused to note the effect of his words, and was somewhat surprised to
see Franz rest the revolver upon his knee, while he continued to gaze at
him curiously.
Vernet had made, or intended to make, a sharp home thrust. In searching
out the history of the Francoises, he had stumbled upon the fact that
they had a son in prison; and the mutterings of Franz, while he lay
upon the pallet, coupled with the fact that Franz and Papa wore upon
their heads locks of the same fiery hue, had awakened in his mind a
strong suspicion.
"Maybe ye might take a fancy ter think I'm that same feller," suggested
Franz, after a moment's silence. "What then?"
"Then," replied Vernet, "every moment that you detain me here increases
your own danger."
"Humph!" grunted Franz, as he rose and crossing to Mamma's side, began
with her a whispered conversation.
Vernet watched them curiously for a moment, and then turned his face
toward Papa.
"Look here, Francoise," he began, somewhat sternly, considering his
position; "I've been looking for you ever since you left the old place,
and I'm disposed to be friendly. Now, I may as well tell you that there
is a rumor afloat, to the effect that your son, who was 'sent up' years
ago, has lately broke jail, and that you harbor him. That does not
concern me, however. This insolent fellow, if he is or is not your son,
may go, so far as I am concerned, and no harm shall come to him or you
through me. What I want of you, is a bit of information."
From the moment of his capture, Vernet had believed himself equal to the
situation. Even now he scarcely felt that these people would dare to do
him bodily injury. As may readily be surmised, his talk of confederates
near at hand was all fiction. He had sought out Papa Francoise hoping to
win from him something that would criminate Alan Warburton, and to use
him as a tool. To arrest Papa might frustrate his own schemes, and, in
the double game he was playing, Van Vernet was too wise to call upon
the police for assistance or protection.
"You want--information?" queried Papa; "what about?"
Vernet hesitated, and then said slowly:
"I want to know all that you can tell me about the Sailor who killed
Josef Siebel."
Papa gasped, stammered, and turned his face toward Franz, who now came
forward, saying fiercely:
"Look here, my fly cop, afore ye ask any more important questions, just
answer a few."
"Take care, jail bird!" cried Vernet, enraged at his persistent
interference, "or I may give the police a chance to ask you a question
too many!"
"Ye've got to git out of my clutches first," hissed Franz Francoise,
"and yer chances fer that are slim!"
As the young ruffian bent close to him, Vernet, for the first time,
fully realized his danger. But his cry for help was smothered by the
hands of his captor, and in another moment he was gagged by the
expeditious fingers of the old woman, and his head and face closely
muffled in a dirty cloth from the nearest pallet.
"There," said Mamma, rising from her knees with a grin of triumph,
"we've got him fast. Open the door, old man, he's going into the closet
for--"
"For a little while," put in Franz, significantly.
Into a rear room, across this, and into the dark hole, which Mamma had
dignified by the name of closet, they carried their luckless prisoner,
bound beyond hope of self-deliverance, gagged almost to suffocation, his
eyes blinded to any ray of light, his ears muffled to any sound that
might penetrate his dungeon.