THE BLOOD-RED STAR.
Frank was startled, to say the least. He looked at the man searchingly,
wondering now that the duke could be as calm as he seemed. It was plain
he had more nerve than Merry had thought.
“The tenth day!” exclaimed Frank. “Then your time is up!”
“Yes,” said the duke, with strange calmness.
“That means——”
Merry stopped.
“I have told you what it means.”
“And you have not heeded the warning?”
“I have not been driven from France.”
“And you do not fear the Black Brothers?”
The French nobleman drew himself up proudly.
“A Laforce never turns his back on danger,” he declared.
“But such terrible peril! It were different if you could face your
foes.”
“Yes, it is hard to be beset by unseen peril.”
“Still you do not fear?”
The duke hesitated a little, and then spoke slowly.
“I believe that the bravest may feel fear at times,” he confessed. “In
battle it is different, but when one knows a peril he cannot see may be
creeping upon him slowly and surely he must be made of more than flesh
and blood not to feel a thrill of fear.”
“It is a terrible thing!” exclaimed the young American earnestly. “It is
like being chained in a pit where the water is rising inch by inch.”
“It is worse. The prisoner in the pit can see the water rise, but a man
to whom the sign of the Black Brothers has been given knows the danger
is creeping upon him, but he cannot see it.”
Now Frank felt a strong thrill of admiration for this old Frenchman who
could remain thus cool in the face of an unseen and deadly peril.
“If you meet the fate of the others—what then?”
“The assassins cannot destroy every friend of Dreyfus, and justice shall
triumph at last.”
“But are you willing to be a sacrifice?”
“No! Still I have lived, and my years to come are not many, at most. If
I fall, I have faith to believe that it will mark the turning-point in
favor of the prisoner of Devil’s Island. I believe that somehow,
sometime, France shall emerge from the clouds and be purged of the stain
upon her.”
It gave Frank Merriwell a sensation he had never before experienced to
be sitting there before the Café de la Paix, in the heart of Paris,
calmly speaking with a man who had been doomed to death by a mysterious
band of assassins, and who knew that, were the assassins to carry out
their fearful threat, he had not many hours more to live. All around
them was life and pleasure, and nothing but the seriousness of the duke
could impress Merriwell with the real horror of the situation.
“This sign of which you speak—what is it?”
Edmond Laforce felt in his pocket and brought something forth. This he
placed upon the table.
It was a metal star, dark-red in color, with points numbered from one to
seven. Upon it were the words, “Ten days.” Beneath the words appeared
the dreadful death-machine of France, the guillotine. Frank gazed on the
blood-red star with deep interest.
“This,” said the duke, with forced calmness, “is the sign of the Black
Brothers. The seven points of the star represent the seven members of
the assassin band.”
“You have kept it!” exclaimed Merry. “Why didn’t you throw the thing
away?”
“What good? It’s work was done when I received it.”
“How did it come to you?”
“I was sitting at dinner in the Deux Mondes. My first order had not been
filled when, happening to glance upon the table before me, I saw this
blood-red star lying there. That is how it came to me.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Frank, with a sudden feeling of relief. “Then it was not
sent to you direct?”
“No, in a sense it was not.”
“You found it by accident.”
“So it seemed.”
“And it may not have been meant for you at all!”
“Perhaps,” said the duke frankly, “that is the reason why I have not
left France. Perhaps, I have thought, it might not be meant for me.”
“I see,” said the American youth eagerly. “But you know beyond a doubt
that it is the sign of the Black Brothers?”
“Yes; it is their sign of death. It is strange I have told you all this.
I have not talked to others of it, but something led me to speak to you.
Perhaps it was the strange pains in my heart. They gave me a shock. I
thought of the others who had died suddenly and unaccountably. Your
sympathy with Dreyfus led me to talk on, till now you know all.”
“Monsieur, it may be you have alarmed yourself needlessly. There is a
chance that you have not been selected as a victim.”
“A chance—yes. But you must remember that I am marked as a friend of
Dreyfus. It would be most natural that I had been selected to fall by
the Black Brothers.”
“I understand your feeling in the matter, and I admire your nerve.
Still, I hope you may live to see Dreyfus given a fair and open trial.”
Laforce was about to speak in reply to this, when he was again seized by
the pains in his heart, and this time they seemed to overcome him for
some moments. Frank arose in agitation, proposing to call for a
physician, but the duke restrained him with a gesture.
“I shall see my doctor as soon as possible,” he said in a faint voice.
“I believe you need medical aid at once.”
“If it is the doom of the Black Brothers, medicine will not save me! I
fear it may be! Who can tell? Wait, and listen. I have in my possession
something that may prove the innocence of Dreyfus. If I should die
suddenly, it must not be found upon me, for it would be sure to fall
into wrong hands. You claim to have sympathy with Dreyfus, and I wish
you to do me a favor.”
“What favor?”
The duke again felt in his pocket, producing a metal ball somewhat
larger than an ordinary marble. For a moment he exposed it to Frank, and
then he hid it in his hand.
“This,” he half whispered, “holds what may some day prove poor Dreyfus
innocent. I am going to give it into your keeping till to-morrow night
at this hour, when I will meet you here, and accept it from you—if I am
living!”
The duke glanced around, as if to make sure they were not watched, and
then he covertly and quickly passed the tiny metal ball to Frank, who
felt a strange thrill as he received it.
“Put it away at once,” whispered the Frenchman. “Do not tell a soul that
you have it. Promise me you will not tell.”
Frank wondered at his readiness to accept the trust, and still more he
wondered at the man’s willingness to trust him, a stranger. Still, he
understood the remarkable position in which Laforce was placed. The man
feared he might drop dead at any moment, and he did not wish the thing
to be found upon him.
“What if you do not meet me here to-morrow to receive it back?” asked
Merry.
“I shall be dead.”
“I know; but what shall I do with it then?”
“Keep it till the right one calls for it.”
“The right one?”
“Yes, Monsieur Merriwell.”
“How shall I know the right one?”
“He will give you a signal.”
“What signal?”
“He will press his left hand over his eyes, and say, ‘Justice calls.’”
“Is that all?”
“That is all. And now, perhaps, it will not be well for us to remain
longer together. I might arouse suspicion if certain ones were to see us
talking thus earnestly for a long time. I have trusted you, not because
I was forced to trust some one, but because your face has told me you
may be trusted.”
“Thank you, monsieur.”
Laforce waved his hand.
“It is I who owe you thanks, Monsieur Merriwell. I hope to see you here
to-morrow evening at this hour.”
“I hope you may.”
“Till then, guard that tiny ball with your life, for it may give life
and liberty to the innocent man on Devil’s Island.”
Edmond Laforce, the Duke of Benoit du Sault, picked his jeweled cane
from the table, and rose to his feet. Frank rose, also, and their eyes
met again.
“I will not offer my hand again, as we know not what eyes are on us,”
said the duke. “Till to-morrow night—or forever—farewell!”
He turned, and walked away, and Frank Merriwell returned to his hotel,
to think of the strange things he had heard, and to wonder if they could
be true. The following morning, he read in _Figaro_ that the Duke of
Benoit du Sault had been found dead in his bed. The report stated that
it was plainly and undoubtedly a case of heart failure, but Frank
Merriwell knew that it was murder!
He sat staring at the paper in a dazed way, thinking of his meeting with
the doomed man the previous night, and all the strange things the duke
had told him across the little table in front of the Café de la Paix.
Now he knew beyond a doubt that the Black Brothers had found another
victim. The strange pains Laforce had felt were but the warnings of his
coming dissolution.
There was something uncanny and terrible about it, something that gave a
chill to Frank Merriwell’s warm blood. Surely, the enemies of the
prisoner of Devil’s Island were ready to resort to any extreme of crime
to keep the friends of the unfortunate man from securing justice for
him. They counted human lives as nothing in their terrible work.
And that was France—happy France.
From the first, Frank had felt sympathy for Dreyfus, and now it seemed
that he was in some way connected with the miserable captive in the iron
cage on that dread island. He felt in his pocket for the tiny metal ball
given him by Edmond Laforce. It was there. He took it out, and examined
it closely, for the first time. It seemed too light to be a solid piece
of metal, and yet he could see no flaw in it, no opening, nothing but
the polished surface.
The dead Duke of Benoit du Sault had said that the ball might some day
prove the innocence of Dreyfus. How could that be?
Frank asked himself the question, as he sat there with it in his
fingers, turning it over and over. Was it not possible that the duke had
been mentally unbalanced?
That was a new thought, and it gave the young American a start. Surely,
the uncanny story the man had told seemed like the imaginings of a
diseased brain, and men had gone mad in France from thinking of the
Dreyfus affair. Perhaps the duke had become crazed from brooding over
it, and had imagined the story of the Black Brothers, the blood-red
star, and the metal ball that was to prove the innocence of the
condemned man.
It was possible he had caused the star to be made by his own directions.
Or, perhaps, having found it as he claimed, he had woven around it the
weird story which he had revealed to Frank.
Surely, it was easy enough for a Frenchman who was mentally unsound to
have such conceptions, and to believe in them. But the most remarkable
part of it all was that the duke should die on that night which he
claimed completed the tenth day of grace allotted to him by the Black
Brothers.
Frank had read that sometimes human beings become so firmly convinced
that they must die at a certain time that they bring about the thing
they fear. Had this been the case with the duke?
It was possible; and, still, Merry could not quite bring himself to
believe the whole thing had been an hallucination of the dead man’s
diseased brain. He had promised the duke to guard the metal ball with
his life, and he resolved to do so now, even though Laforce was dead.
As he sat there, staring at the tiny ball, Wellington Maybe, his tutor,
came softly into the room.
“Mr. Merriwell,” said the little man in a small voice, “I think to-day
we will review——”
“Nothing,” spoke Frank abruptly, putting the ball back into his pocket.
“I have studied faithfully for the past three days, and to-day I shall
take a rest.”
“But——”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it, Mr. Maybe. You are at liberty to spend
the day as you please. I heard you say yesterday that you wished to
visit the art galleries at Versailles. You will have a good opportunity
to-day.”
Mr. Maybe knew it was useless to argue with Merry, when his mind was
made up, and so he did not attempt it further, but withdrew, shaking his
head, leaving Frank once more to his thoughts.
“I could not study to-day, after what has happened,” muttered Merry. “I
should be thinking all the time of the Black Brothers, the blood-red
star, and the dead Duke of Benoit du Sault.”
There was a shout of laughter in an adjoining room, and Rattleton came
bounding into the room, lazily pursued by Browning, who was growling
about some sell he had “bought.”
“Oh, you’re a mark!” chuckled Harry. “Everybody catches you. You’re a
sucker.”
“Speaking of suckers,” said Diamond, following them in, “do you remember
the time Browning went fishing in a fresh-water pond, and brought back a
fine string of mackerel.”
“Oh, that was a lie!” grunted the big fellow, flinging himself down on
an easy chair, and getting out his pipe. “You fellows used to think that
yarn funny. It’s stale now.”
Rattleton continued to chaff the big Yale man, but Merry took no part in
this, which the others noticed after awhile.
“What’s the matter, Frank?” asked Diamond. “You look all fussed up.
Anything gone wrong?”
Frank felt like telling them all about it, but he remembered his promise
to Edmond Laforce, and refrained.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I am not feeling in the best of spirits this
morning.”
Now, it was such a remarkable thing for him to feel other than in high
spirits that they all stared at him blankly.
“Why, I thought you were enjoying France since Mart Brattle has ceased
to trouble you?” said Jack.
“So I am,” assured Merry, rising, and walking to the window, where he
stood, looking out, his hands in his pockets.
As Frank stood there, he noticed on the opposite side of the wide street
a man, who was lingering in a doorway. The man was dressed in black, and
he looked up at the hotel in a searching way. After a little, he seemed
to observe Merry at the window, and then he drew back into the doorway.
There was something odd about the man’s behavior, which caused Merry to
retreat from the window, but remain where he could see the doorway.
After a time, the man appeared in the doorway again, and gazed up at the
hotel.
Somehow, Frank felt that the fellow was a spy or shadower. For whom was
he watching? Merry turned from the window, and announced that he was
going out.
On the street, Frank looked around for the man in the doorway, but could
see nothing of him, which caused him to wonder if he had been wrong in
thinking he was a spy.
Direct to the Deux Mondes Frank went, and there he made inquiries about
the dead duke. All he learned was that Laforce had retired shortly
before midnight, apparently in good health, and had been found dead in
the morning, the early discovery being made as his door stood slightly
ajar. There were no marks of violence nor anything to indicate the man
had not died a natural death. To Merry, it seemed rather strange that
the duke had left his door open; and, if he had not left it open, why
had it been found ajar in the morning?
Somehow, it seemed that the hand of death had opened that door. Frank
pictured the grim agent of destruction creeping in on the man as he
slept, and accomplishing the dread work. It was not strange that the
American youth again felt a chill in his warm blood. Frank asked if
there had been anything queer in the behavior of the duke previous to
his death, and was told that he had seemed rather odd and moody for a
few days.
Then, with all the skill he could command, Merry sought to discover if
there was a taint of insanity in the Laforce blood, but no one seemed to
know that such was the case. The conviction that Edmond Laforce had met
death at the hands of assassins, for all that he bore no mark of
violence, grew upon Frank Merriwell.
And Frank began to feel that it was his duty to solve the mystery, if
possible. Fate had connected him with the remarkable tragedy, and it
would be cowardly not to accept the commission placed on his shoulders
by chance. As Merry turned to leave the hotel, he noticed a man, who had
been lingering near while he asked the questions. In a moment, he
recognized the man in black, whom he had seen in the doorway opposite
his hotel.
On the street, Frank walked briskly to the first corner. As he turned
into the next street, he gave a quick backward glance. The shadower in
black was coming!
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