There was a letter from Mr. Craven to Sharpley, which came by the same mail as those mentioned in the preceding chapter. It contained the following paragraph:

"I suppose you will travel to Switzerland with Frank. I suppose so, because in the summer it is very attractive to the tourist. As accidents are very apt to happen to careless travelers, let me request you to keep a good lookout for him, and not let him approach too near the edge of precipices, or clefts in the mountains. He might easily fall over, and I shudder, not only to think of his fate in that case, but of the grief which would overwhelm his mother and myself. I beg you will keep us apprised of his health, and should any accident happen, write at once."

Sharpley read over this passage with attention. Then he folded the letter, and muttered to himself:

"What a consummate hypocrite that villain Craven is! Any one, to read this letter, would suppose that he was actuated by the warmest attachment for his step-son; and all the while he is planning his death, and coolly suggesting to me an easy way of bringing it about. I am bad enough, or I would not lend myself to carry out his plans, but I'm not such a miserable hypocrite as he is. However, I've seen too much of the world to be shocked at anybody's depravity, having a fair share of wickedness myself. As to the suggestion, I must confess that it's a good one, and relieves me from a good deal of anxious thought. I've been considering how best I could get rid of the young incumbrance. It occurred to me that I could lock him up, and set some charcoal to burning in his room; but, heating the room—it's too hot already. Then, again, I thought of poison. But there's a chance of a post-mortem examination. That won't do. But Craven's plan is best. As far as I can see it will be effectual, and free from danger also. As soon as I can decently get away from Paris, I'll take the boy to Switzerland. I must stay here a week at least, especially as the exhibition is open, or it might draw suspicion upon me. When I'm rid of the boy I shall breathe freer. Then for America, and a final reckoning with Craven. With ten thousand dollars—and more, if I can extort it from him—I will set up for respectability, and develop into a substantial citizen. Good-by, then, to the gambling table. It has been my bane, but, with a fair competence, I will try to resist its fascinations."

Sharpley and our hero met at the table d'hÔte dinner and at breakfast. For the remainder of the day Frank was left to his own devices; but for this he cared little. Either alone, or in company with Mr. Tarbox, he went about the city, often as an outside passenger on the street stages which ply from one end of Paris to the other, and in this way he came to have a very good idea of the plan of the brilliant capital.

On the sixth day, while they were at dinner, Sharpley said:

"Well, Frank, have you seen considerable of Paris?"

"Oh, yes, sir; I am getting to know my way around pretty well."

"I am sorry I have not been able to go about with you more."

"That is of no consequence, sir. I have got on very well alone."

"Have you written home?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am afraid you will be disappointed at what I am going to say."

"What is it, sir?"

"I have arranged for our leaving Paris to-morrow evening."

"Not to go back to England?" asked Frank, hastily.

"No. I propose to go to Switzerland."

"I should like that," said our hero, brightening up. "I have always wanted to see Switzerland."

"I didn't know but you would be sorry to leave Paris."

"So I should be if I thought we were not coming back this way. We shall, sha'n't we?"

"Yes."

"And we shall have time to stay here a little while then?"

"No doubt."

"Then I can defer the rest of my sight-seeing till then. What route shall we take?"

"As to that, there is a variety of routes. It doesn't matter much to me. I will leave the choice to you."

"Will you?" said Frank, eagerly. "Then I will get out my map after dinner and pick it out."

"Very well. You can tell me to-morrow morning."

The next morning Sharpley put the question to Frank:

"Well, have you decided by what route you would like to travel?"

"Can't we go east to the Rhine, and go up that river to Mayence, and thence to Geneva by rail?"

"Certainly, if you like. It will be quite a pleasant route."

"I always thought I should like to go up the Rhine. I have been up the Hudson, which I have often heard compared to the Rhine."

"There is no comparison between them," said Sharpley, who, not being an American, was not influenced by a patriotic prejudice in favor of the Hudson. "The Rhine has ruined castles and vine-clad hills, and is far more interesting."

"Very likely," said Frank. "At any rate, I want to see it."

"We will start to-morrow night, then. Morning will bring us across the frontier. You will be ready, of course?"

"Yes, sir."

The next morning Frank went to the exposition to acquaint Mr. Tarbox with his approaching departure.

"Are you goin'? I'm real sorry, Frank," said the Yankee. "I shall kinder hanker arter you, boy. You seem like home. As to them chatterin', frog-eatin' furriners, I can't understand a word they say, and ef I could I wouldn't want to."

"I am afraid you are prejudiced, Mr. Tarbox. I have met some very agreeable French people."

"I haven't," said Mr. Tarbox. "They don't suit me. There ain't nothin' solid or substantial about 'em."

"You may get acquainted with some English people. You can understand them."

"I don't like 'em," said Jonathan. "They think they can whip all creation. We gave 'em a lesson, I guess, at Bunker Hill."

"Let by-gones be by-gones, Mr. Tarbox; or, as Longfellow says:

"Did Longfellow write that?"

"Yes."

"Then he ain't so smart as I thought he was. How can anybody that's dead bury himself, I'd like to know? It's ridiculous."

"I suppose it's figurative."

"It ain't sense. But that aint to the point. Where-abouts in Switzerland are you goin', Frank?"

"I don't know, except that we go to Geneva."

"Can you write me a letter from there?"

"Certainly. I will do so with pleasure, and shall be glad to hear from you."

"All right. I ain't much on scribblin'. I can hold a plow better'n a pen. But I guess I can write a few pot-hooks, jest to let yer know I'm alive an' kickin'."

"It's a bargain, then."

"Jest give me your name on a piece of paper, so I shall know where to write."

"All right. I happen to know where we are going to stop there. Mr. Sharpley mentioned that we should stop at the Hotel des Bergues. I haven't got a card with me, but I'll put the address on an old envelope."

Frank took from his pocket what he supposed to be Mr. Craven's letter to him, and on the reverse side wrote:

Frank Hunter,
Hotel des Bergues,
Geneva,
Switzerland.

Mr. Tarbox took it and surveyed it critically; then read it as follows:

"'Frank Hunter, Hotel dese Bugs.' Wal, that's a queer name for a tavern," he said. "I s'pose that's French for bugs?"

"It means that the big bugs stop there," said Frank, jocosely.

"Some of the big bugs are humbugs," said Jonathan, laughing grimly at his own wit.

When, after leaving Mr. Tarbox, Frank happened to examine his pockets, he drew out the two letters he had received. This puzzled him. What letter was that which he had given his Yankee friend, then? He could not tell. We are wiser. Sharpley had incautiously left on the table Craven's letter to him, and Frank had put it into his pocket, supposing it to be his. This it was which had passed into the possession of Mr. Tarbox.

Three days later Mr. Tarbox discovered the letter, and curiosity made him unscrupulous. He read it through, including the paragraph already quoted.

"By hokey!" he muttered. "That's queer. 'Should any accident happen, write at once.' He seems to expect an accident will happen. I'll bet that man is a snake in the grass. He's Frank's guardian, and he's got up some plot ag'in him. I always disliked that Sharpley. He's a skunk. I'll start for Switzerland to-morrow, and let the old plow go to thunder. I'm bound to look out for Frank."

Mr. Tarbox was energetic. He went to his lodgings, packed his carpet-bag, and early next morning started in pursuit of Frank and Sharpley.