BRUANT, THE STRANGLER.
Frank Merriwell removed his hand from his coat pocket, and his fingers
gripped the butt of a revolver, on the shining barrel of which the
lamplight glinted. At that moment, he felt disgusted with himself
because he had walked into the snare, and yet it was not strange he had
done so, for the failure of the man to give the complete signal before
the Café de la Paix had seemed natural enough, considering the publicity
of the place. Naturally, Merry had reason that he should follow the man
to some more secluded spot, where the complete signal would be given,
and he would surrender the precious ball, without being seen by eyes
that should know nothing of its whereabouts. But now it seemed plain
that the man knew no more than the words of the signal, and that did not
make it complete. This being the case, Frank had no thought of giving up
the tiny ball.
The door had closed softly behind him, and he was alone in that room
with the man he had followed there. His hand found the knob of the door,
and he satisfied himself that it was fastened. Again the Frenchman
smiled into his face, a smile of craft and triumph.
“Monsieur should not hurry,” he said in his purring voice. “I am sure he
will not hurry, for I wish to talk with him more.”
The man saw the revolver in Frank’s hand, but he seemed to heed it very
little. Merry leaned against the door, crossing his feet. He was quite
as cool as the Frenchman.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said. “I had thought to keep an engagement,
but it is rather late, and it will make little difference if I do not
appear. I shall make an excuse that I was in very detaining company.”
“Monsieur is skilful in the use of words, and he speaks French
beautifully. One might almost believe him a Frenchman, from listening to
his language. Won’t you sit down?”
The man motioned toward a chair near the table, on which stood the lamp,
bowing politely.
“After you, monsieur,” said the American youth, with equal politeness,
indicating another chair. “I do not like to sit with my back toward the
door, for doors unexpectedly opened sometimes admit dangerous drafts.”
“It will not be politeness for me, as your host, to be seated first,”
protested the man.
“Perhaps we had better disregard the matter of form on this occasion.
There are times when it is not well to be too conventional. I pray you
be seated first.”
“Very well; but I ask your pardon, in advance, for the breach.”
The man started to sit down.
“Not there, my dear friend,” said Frank. “Be kind enough to take the
chair to the left.”
“As you like,” said the man, with a shrug of his shoulders.
He sat down; and then, still holding his revolver in his hand, Frank
advanced to the table, and sat on the chair the man had first attempted
to take.
“This is more comfortable,” said the Frenchman. “It distressed me to see
you standing.”
“The ease with which you are distressed over the inconvenience of others
does you great credit,” said Merry, with a curl at the corners of his
lips. “Now we are seated, you are at liberty to say whatever you have to
say.”
“Thank you,” bowed the man, placing his hands on the table before him,
and leaning slightly toward Merry.
Frank noticed those hands for the first time. Although the fingers were
long, they were also thick and muscular, and there was something about
them suggestive of great strength. The man saw Merriwell looking at his
hands, and a strange, chilling smile hovered on his face.
“What do you think of them?” he asked.
“Eh? Of what?”
“My hands.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I saw you looking at them. Are they not very strong?”
“They seem to be.”
“They are. There are no hands in Paris like them. They are the most
famous hands in all this city.”
Frank wondered what the man could mean by all this.
“What do I care about your hands!” he cried, forgetting for the moment
his assumption of suavity. “I did not stop here to talk of them.”
“No, monsieur; you stopped here because the door was closed.”
“I believe you are right.”
The Frenchman bowed.
“I am sure I am right,” he said. “But I saw you looking at my hands.
They attracted your attention. It is not strange. They are very strong.
Look.”
He spread the sinewy fingers out till his hands looked like huge talons,
and then he brought them slowly together, as if gripping something, and
crushing it. There was something so horribly suggestive about this
action that the lips of the American youth were pressed together, and
there was a frown on his forehead.
“If I had something within the grasp of those fingers,” purred the man
across the table, “they would close just the same. They can crush
anything but iron, and that they can bend.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Frank impatiently. “Was it to boast of the
strength of your hands that you induced me to stay?”
“I thought of telling you about it, my cool young friend from America.
After I have told you all, we will talk of something else.”
The hands unclosed, and lay on the table. Surely, there was something
fascinating about them, and Frank took his eyes from them with
difficulty.
“Now,” said the Frenchman, in that same purring voice, “suppose that
those hands were to close on a human throat, Monsieur American. What
chance would the owner of that throat have to escape with his life? They
would crush the windpipe, and end a human life with ease. I did not lie
to you when I told you those hands were the most famous in all Paris.
They have given me my name.”
Frank was silent.
“I have used those hands,” continued the man, “and I expect to use them
again—perhaps to-night. They have felt human throats!”
Merriwell felt a creepy sensation stealing over him.
“Did you ever hear of Claude Bruant?” asked the man.
“Never.”
“Then you have not been long in Paris. I am Claude Bruant, but I have
another name, given me in honor of the work these hands have done. I am
more often called The Strangler!”
“A very pretty name for a man like you, and most appropriate,” said the
American youth, with unruffled coolness. “I should say it fitted you
very well. But there are ropes that strangle, as well as hands, and in
France the guillotine is sometimes used by the executioner. Sometime you
may discover how very beautifully it works!”
The lips of the man curled back from his teeth in a wolfish smile. The
nerve of this youth, scarcely more than a boy, was too much for him. If
he had thought to terrify Frank Merriwell, he realized now that he had
failed utterly. For all of his anger and disappointment, which were
betrayed by that wolfish smile, he could not help admiring the lad who
had remained unruffled by all he had said.
That the American appreciated the situation was certain, for he had been
keen to scent danger, and his language had shown that he possessed an
unusually acute brain. The Strangler knew little of Americans, save what
he had seen of them in Paris, and he had fancied that they could be
intimidated with ease. He had expected to become more blunt and direct
in his threats, but now he felt that it would be useless.
Still, he was angry, and further threats came rolling to his tongue
without being summoned.
“You are very clever, Monsieur American!” he sneered; “but there is such
a thing as being too clever. Do you know that?”
“Without doubt, you are right, Monsieur Strangler. You have shown
considerable cleverness yourself, but you are bound to overstep the
limit in time, and then——Well, you know.”
“Ah, monsieur, I fear you will not live to see that time!”
“There is no reason why I should not, for I am much younger than you.”
“Accidents will happen, you know. A strong hand, or two of them, might
find the way to your throat.”
“I hardly fear there is danger of that. A bullet is much swifter than
human hands.”
Frank smiled as he handled his revolver.
“And do you know how to shoot?”
“Monsieur, there is a fly crawling toward the lobe of your left ear. If
you will permit me, I’ll guarantee to shoot him off without breaking the
skin on your ear, and then there will be no flies on you.”
Frank rested his elbow on the table, and pointed the revolver at Bruant.
Instantly the man held up those fearful hands, with the palms toward the
young American, saying:
“I beg you will not shoot! Not that I fear harm, of course; but that is
a pet fly of mine, and he has a way of crawling to the lobe of my left
ear every evening at about this hour. If you were to destroy him, I
should miss him very much.”
“That being the case, I would not think of harming him for the world;
but, if you will turn your head, I’ll agree to brush the dust from your
eyebrows without ruffling them in the least.”
“Monsieur, it would be easy to hit a large mark across a table, but
could you hit a small mark across a room?”
“I am willing to exhibit my skill. If you will hold a cigarette in your
teeth, I think I may be able to clip it close to your lips, without
knocking out a single tooth, or drawing blood.”
“That would be very good; but would you yourself dare make such a test?”
“It is an easy thing for you to learn. All you have to do is to take a
cigarette in your lips, and stand against that door yonder.”
“Thank you, but I am certain you will not urge me to arise after I have
assured you that I am much tired, not having slept well for several
nights.”
“As you like. It was for your pleasure I proposed giving the exhibition
of my skill. Under any circumstances, you should not doubt my ability to
hit a man across a table.”
“Let us talk of other things.”
“As you choose,” bowed Frank, feeling well satisfied by what had passed
between them.
“It is needless to waste words,” said Bruant.
Merry lifted his eyebrows.
“You make the discovery after a great many have been wasted,” he smiled.
“Now I will talk direct.”
“Do!”
“You have what I want.”
“Still you continue to waste words, for you told me that once before.”
“Well, monsieur, I tell you so again!” came rather sharply from the
Strangler, his suavity beginning to break down before the coolness of
the young American. “You have what I want. I led you here to obtain it
from you.”
“You have been to considerable trouble.”
“And I am not to be baffled!”
“You may promise yourself that as much as you like, but you must seek no
such assurance from me.”
“I promise you that! As truly as that door is closed, you shall not
leave this room till it is delivered to me! On it the fate of a good man
depends, and I must have it! Why attempt to baffle the efforts of
justice by seeking to keep it?”
“Why attempt to deceive me, Monsieur Strangler? You are not the friend
of justice, but of something quite different. There is no reason why I
should deliver anything into your hands.”
“You value your own life?”
“That I will admit.”
“Then, that is reason enough.”
“I shall defend my life with this weapon. Further than that, what is to
hinder me from compelling you to rise and escort me from this room? I
have a weapon in my hand, and I can put a piece of lead through your
body in a twinkling, if I choose. Were you to refuse, I might shoot
you.”
“And that would be a serious thing for you.”
“Not in this case, which would be purely one of self-defense. By your
words, it is evident that Claude Bruant, the Strangler, is known in
Paris, and it would not matter much if one of his intended victims were
to end his life. In fact, it seems probable that every honest man would
rejoice, and the one who did the deed would be applauded, if not
rewarded.”
“You have that matter reasoned out to your own satisfaction, I presume?”
“Fully.”
“Well, let me tell you that the friends of the Strangler are within
call. Were you to become careless with that pistol——”
“I should not give you time to call.”
“The report of the weapon would suffice. My voice would not be needed.”
“How many friends have you near?”
“Oh,” grinned Bruant, with a shrug of his shoulders, “there are
enough—four or five.”
“Five—not more?”
“Why are you so anxious to know?”
“Because this revolver holds six shots. That would be one for you and
each of your five friends. I really think I had better begin on you, and
let the others come along later. I’ll take them as they come!”
The astounded Frenchman began to fear that the American really
contemplated carrying out the idea.
“Wait a little!” he urged. “You can save yourself trouble by handing
over the article. When you have done that, you will be permitted to
depart unharmed. I will guarantee that not a hand shall be raised
against you.”
“You are very kind!”
“Then you will comply?”
“No.”
“You refuse to give it up?”
“I have nothing to give you.”
At last, Bruant realized that the American could not be wheedled or
frightened into handing over the metal ball. Indeed, all this talk had
been a waste of words, and the anger in Bruant’s heart was intense. A
sudden idea came to him. One thing he had not tried. Fool that he was,
he had forgotten that all Americans are ready to sell their very souls
for money!
The Strangler grinned with sudden satisfaction. He leaned on the table
close by the lamp, lowering his voice.
“Monsieur American,” he said, “what you have is very valuable to me, and
I am willing to pay for it. I was wrong in not coming to an
understanding concerning its value at once. I will buy it from you, and
you shall be well paid.”
There was a dark frown on the face of Frank Merriwell, and he looked as
if he longed to dash his clenched fist into the evil face that was
grinning at him with sudden satisfaction.
“You have made a mistake, Monsieur Strangler,” he said grimly. “I have
nothing to sell you.”
Bruant stared.
“But, perhaps, you doubt that I will pay? Oh, I can give you positive
assurance of that!”
“I do not need it.”
“I will bring the money here to this room, and place it on this table,
before you.”
“Spare yourself the trouble.”
“It may be you doubt me? It may be you think I will bring you harm? Then
we will both sit still, and I will call old Mezin to bring the money.”
“I tell you that you are giving yourself needless trouble.”
“Wait till I have named a price.”
“Bruant,” said Frank Merriwell clearly and distinctly, “you cannot
command enough money to buy anything of me! Do you think I’d touch one
coin of your crime-stained money! I should feel that every piece was
dripping with the blood of Dreyfus!”
“Most Americans are not such fools!”
Bruant had quite lost control of his temper now, and he snarled the
words.
“Most Americans cannot be bought with ill-gotten coin!”
“Then you absolutely refuse, at any price?”
“I do!”
They looked at each other across the table, defeat flushing the dusky
face of the Strangler with black blood. There was nothing but utter
fearlessness in the face of the young American.
The Frenchman turned his head toward the lamp, and gave a sudden great
puff. Then, as it went out, plunging the room in darkness, he sprang to
one side, and flung himself bodily across the table, his hands diving
out in search of a human throat!
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