IN THE WINE-CELLAR.
Frank was carried down a shaking flight of stairs into a cellar, where
there were barrels and wine-casks and long shelves of bottles, covered
with dust and cobwebs. They placed him on a bench, and the light of
their coal-oil lamps showed him something that caused him to start and
groan.
Bruce Browning was there, standing in the center of the cellar, bound
securely to a stone pillar, a gag in his mouth. The eyes of the big Yale
man met those of his chum, and there was an instant understanding
between them.
Frank knew why Bruce had not returned to the hotel. At last the mighty
giant had been conquered and made a captive. In that look volumes were
spoken. Bruce expressed his anger, grief, and regret, while Frank showed
his sympathy.
They had found each other, but they were helpless and in the power of
desperate men. The faces of those men were covered by masks, with the
exception of that of Brattle. It seemed that Martin did not care to
attempt to conceal his identity. There were seven of them in all.
Brattle stood before Frank and sneered at him.
“Poor fool!” he said. “Did you think you could get the best of me? With
all your tricks of disguise, you are not smart enough to cope with Mart
Brattle.”
Frank was not gagged.
“It must take a great rascal to match you,” he said.
“I confess that I did not know you in the theater,” said Brattle; “but I
knew you after you had followed us so far.”
Frank was disgusted.
“So you discovered I was following you?” he muttered.
“Yes. Then I was certain it must be you; but how you found your way into
that yard is what beats me. You disappeared from the street in a
twinkling, and next you were in that yard when we came to hunt for you.”
“And you don’t know how I got there?”
“I don’t know how you found the way.”
Frank wondered if the man spoke the truth. He wondered if, indeed, the
Mystery had not betrayed him after all. If not, what had become of Mr.
Noname? Frank remembered how many times that strange man had appeared
and saved him from his enemies, and he began to wonder if it would not
happen again.
“Tell me how you found your way into that yard,” commanded Martin
Brattle.
Frank laughed.
“That is something for you to find out,” he said.
“You will not tell?”
Brattle snapped his fingers.
“It makes little difference. To-night ends your career in France. You
shall die, Frank Merriwell, and you will never tell anything you may
have learned to anybody else.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Merry. “You boast; but I doubt if you have the nerve to
carry out your threats.”
“You will not doubt long. Let me tell you something. Do you see these
men about me?”
“I am not blind.”
“They are the most desperate cutthroats in all Paris. There is not one
of them who has not killed his man. They live by robbery and murder.”
“Well, I see you have chosen fit associates, Brattle.”
“Don’t get funny!” growled the man. “I don’t like it!”
“You may not like it, but it is the truth. They are fit associates for
you. You have lived by robbery, and I doubt not that you will be
executed for murder.”
“Better keep a civil tongue, Merriwell!” snarled Brattle. “You are in my
power, and I can make you die a thousand deaths!”
“I have but one life, and so you can make me die but one death.”
Brattle stood with his hands on his hips, scowling down at his victim.
The masked ruffians were farther back. They remained silent, and it is
doubtful if any of them understood what was being said.
“You do not know me, Frank Merriwell. I have sworn to get even with you
for all you have cost me.”
“I have known others to swear such an oath. One who did so, a pal of
yours, was drowned in England. Drowning is too easy a death for you.”
“Go on! You are digging your own grave with your words!”
“A little while ago you said you had decided to kill me, anyhow. What
difference does it make?”
“Before I kill you you must tell me where to find Elsie Bellwood. In
what part of Paris is she?”
“She is not in Paris.”
“Don’t lie!”
“I am not lying, Brattle. You have fooled yourself. Elsie did not come
to Paris at all. She is in England.”
“I do not believe it!”
Frank laughed shortly.
“You are at liberty to believe what you like. It makes no difference to
me. I am not telling you this to aid you in any way, but simply to show
you that you have made a fool of yourself by chasing on here to France,
thinking you were following up Elsie Bellwood.”
“Where is she in England?”
“That is for you to find out, Brattle.”
“You refuse to tell?”
“I do.”
“I’ll make you tell!”
“You can’t.”
“We shall see.”
Brattle turned to one of the men and asked him in French for his knife.
When he turned back, he held a long, glittering blade in his fingers.
“Now,” he said, resting one knee on the bench and grasping Frank by the
neck, “we’ll see if you can be made to tell!”
The point of the knife was at Frank Merriwell’s throat. Merry felt it
pricking there, but he never winced or showed the least sign of fear.
Brattle was surprised.
“Can you feel the knife?” he sneered, “or are you too scared to feel
anything, you young fool?”
“I can feel it very plainly, thank you,” said Frank. “I should say that
the point must be just above my jugular vein.”
Brattle cried out something in French, and there came muttered
exclamations of astonishment and admiration from the ruffians who were
watching everything. They could not help admiring the nerve of the
captive. In the center of the cellar Bruce Browning was twisting and
straining at his bonds, the veins beginning to stand out like cords on
his face and neck.
Martin Brattle had seen Frank Merriwell under other circumstances, and
knew Merry was nervy, but this was something more than the villain had
anticipated.
“If I were to give a very slight pressure, this keen blade would
penetrate your jugular vein, and then all the doctors in Paris could not
give you one hour of life.”
“That’s right, Brat,” admitted Frank. “When the jugular is penetrated, a
fellow is done for.”
“Then speak!” ordered Martin fiercely. “Speak, or I will tap the vein,
and you shall see your life-blood spouting from your neck!”
Browning’s teeth cracked as they grated together.
“It’s no use,” said Frank coolly; “you can’t force me to speak in that
way, Brattle. Go ahead with your devilish work.”
Martin Brattle sprang back and stood panting, trembling, and glaring at
his captive.
“What are you made of?” he faltered.
“Flesh and blood,” was the answer; “but not the kind of flesh and blood
that quakes before a dastard like you!”
“Still you know I can kill you!”
“Yes; but I know you cannot make me squeal. I’d be ashamed to die after
begging to you! It would be dying like a coward! If I must croak, I
prefer to do it like a man! Go on with your work!”
Whether they understood it or not, some of the masked ruffians, who
stood about with folded arms, murmured as if they were applauding.
Never before had Bruce Browning felt such admiration for his college
chum. Always had he known Frank was brave, but now he knew he had nerves
of iron. Bruce did not wonder that Merry had been a winner at
everything, for he felt that any man with such nerve could not help
winning.
Brattle swore.
“I believe you think I am fooling with you!” he snarled. “I believe you
think I do not dare to kill you!”
“Quite the contrary,” said Merry promptly; “I believe you are such a
coward that you dare murder me, for no one but a low-lived cur would
think of doing such a thing!”
Again Brattle sprang on Frank and menaced him with the glittering knife,
on the very point of which was a single drop of blood.
“Go ahead!” cried Merry. “Don’t be fooling around like this! Finish your
job!”
Brattle drew off.
“Not so quick,” he said. “I understand. You are eager that I should do
it, in order to have it over as soon as possible. But I have sworn to
make you tell where I may find Elsie Bellwood, and I’ll do it. Do you
know how I am going to make you do it?”
“I haven’t an idea.”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Do.”
“I am going to begin by cutting off your fingers one by one.”
“A nice idea!”
“Then I shall cut off your ears, your nose, and so on. I shall torture
you by inches till you tell me what I wish to know!”
“You are a bigger coward than I thought!” observed Merry. “Not only
that, but you are a brute of the lowest type, Brattle. You are not fit
to mingle with men!”
“Oh, you may say what you like! I have to get revenge on you! You robbed
me of Elsie! You ruined my business in New York! You put the police
after me! You made it necessary for me to fly from the country!”
“What a fine thing that was for the country!”
“I followed you to England to get possession of that girl, and also to
get square with you. In London you brought more trouble on me. Because
of you, I lay weeks in a hospital. At first they said I might not
recover, but I vowed that I would not die till I was able to say I had
squared my debt with you. I lived, and I am here to square that debt!”
“Well, you have made talk enough about it. Go ahead with the job.”
“You seem anxious to have the torture begin.”
“Or anxious to have it over.”
“Well, it will not end very quickly. Do you still fancy I am fooling
with you? Well, you shall see! I will begin right away by taking a
finger from your hand. No; I think I will begin by taking off your
ears.”
Browning was straining at his bonds again. He saw the wretch bend over
Frank with the knife and reach to slice off one of Merry’s ears. Then,
with a mighty surge, the Yale giant burst his bonds asunder. He tore
himself free, snatched the gag from his mouth, gave a roar like that of
a mad lion, and flung himself on Brattle.
The villain was knocked down in a moment. He screamed for help, and the
other ruffians attacked Browning. Bruce was a perfect whirlwind. He
caught one of the men up and whirled him round his head like a club,
knocking the others over and tumbling them in heaps. He was magnificent
in his rage and strength.
“Give it to ’em, Bruce!” cried Merry from the bench, exulting in the
turn the tide had taken. “Lay on, and spare not!”
“Oh, I’ll give it to them!” roared the big fellow. “I’ll crack their
heads! I’ll mow them down! Where’s that cur who was going to cut off
your fingers and your ears? Let him stand forth! I want to get one more
crack at him!”
Some of the men fled screaming from the cellar, but more were knocked
stiff and senseless on the cemented floor. Bottles crashed down from the
shelves and barrels were upset. The fight did not last long, for the men
could not stand before the Yale giant. When they had been knocked out,
or had fled, Bruce hastened to set Frank free.
They looked for Brattle, but he was one who had escaped by flight.
“We must get out of here,” said Merry. “I fancy we have no time to
lose.”
“You are right,” said a deep voice, and they looked up to see the Man of
Mystery standing on the stairs. “I have found you at last, led here by
the sounds of battle. I feared I had lost you forever. Come; I will lead
you from this place. You must get out before the gang recovers.”
They sprang up the stairs after him, and he led them out to the yard
where the battle had taken place. Through the passage which he knew he
escorted them from the yard and brought them to the open street.
“There,” he said, “you are free. Go!”
A door closed behind them, and when they tried to open it they were
unable to do so. The Mystery was gone, and to them he remained a mystery
still.
* * * * *
“Was it possible, Frank,” cried Bruce, as they were talking it over the
next day, “that you really thought me angry with you? My dear fellow,
that was part of the joke. It was my plan to get back at you.”
“Well, it was pretty good acting,” laughed Merry.
“I enjoyed it when I found you were chasing me up. I dodged into that
café by accident, and I found a way out by the back door, which opened
into that little yard. The door closed behind me, and then I felt that
something was wrong. I hammered on it, but it would not open before me.
Then I put my shoulder to it and burst it open.”
“The pounding and the crash I heard!” exclaimed Frank.
“I don’t remember much after that till I found myself bound to that
stone pillar in the cellar,” said Bruce. “I think somebody struck me on
the head with a club as I stumbled into the passage.”
“And I heard you groan!” exclaimed Frank.
“Well, it has turned out pretty well, even though Brattle escaped. He’ll
meet his just deserts pretty soon.”
“That is certain,” nodded Frank. “But now I most desire to see the Man
Without a Name and thank him for what he has done. He has promised that
I shall see him again.”
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