Fertile in construction, daring in execution, he has hoped by a bold stroke to make a most important discovery. Viewing the events of the morning from a perfectly natural standpoint, he has rapidly reached the following conclusion:

If the fugitive Sailor and Alan Warburton are one and the same, then, undoubtedly, the message left by Mamma at the door of the Warburtons was intended for Alan. What was the purport of that message, he may find it difficult to discover,--but may he not be able to surprise from Papa an acknowledgment of his connection with the aristocrat of Warburton place?

To arrest the Francoises was, at present, no part of his plan. This would be to alarm Alan Warburton, and to lessen his own chances for making discoveries. He had found Papa Francoise, and it would be strange if he again escaped from his surveillance.

He had not counted upon the presence of a third, and even a fourth party, in paying his visit to the Francoises. And now, as the rec.u.mbent Franz began to move and to mutter, Van Vernet turned toward the pallet a keen and suspicious glance.

But never was there a more manifest combination of drowsiness and drunken stupidity than that displayed upon the face of Franz, as he raised himself upon the pallet and stared stupidly at the ebonied stranger.

Then a look of abject terror crept into his face, and he seemed making a powerful effort to rouse his drunken faculties. Slowly he rose from the pallet, and staggered to his feet, muttering some unintelligible words.

Then, after a stealthy glance about the room, he turned and reeled toward the door.

As he approached, Van Vernet, still gazing steadfastly into his face, stepped aside, and at the instant Franz made a lurch in the same direction.

In another moment,--neither Papa nor Mamma could have told how it came about,--the two were upon the floor, Franz Francoise uppermost, his knees upon the breast of his antagonist!

As Van Vernet, who had fallen with one arm underneath him, made his first movement in self-defence, his ears were greeted by a warning hiss, and he felt the pressure of a keen-edged knife against his throat!

CHAPTER XXIX.

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 hoa.r.s.e, 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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: