“Give it up!”

“Never!”

“You shall!”

“Never!”

“I’ll take it!”

“You cannot!”

“We’ll see!”

In a very few moments, M. de Villefort was astounded by the strength of the American youth, who seemed scarcely more than a boy. Once his fingers had closed on the ball, the man believed it safe in his possession, but he soon realized that he must fight if he would retain it, and he must fight as never before had he fought. Grappled in each other’s embrace, the men swayed and staggered about the room. They struck against pieces of furniture, which they upset. They glared into each other’s eyes, and panted as they fought.

Frank had clutched the man’s wrist, and his object was to pin De Villefort against the wall, and force him to return the ball. But the Frenchman was slippery, and it was not easy for Merry to carry out his plan. However, De Villefort had not the endurance to stand against the American youth, and he soon realized that his strength must give out, while Frank seemed as fresh and strong as at first.

“Fool!” panted the Frenchman. “I gave you the signal!”

“By accident, perhaps.”

“You know that is not possible!”

“And I know you have no right to the ball!”

“You are mad! Do you wish to share the fate of the Duke of Benoit du Sault?”

“His fate? Why, the papers say he died a natural death!”

“He died as others have died—and as you may die!”

“Now I know you have no right to the ball! Now I know you are not the friend, but the enemy, of justice! You shall not leave this room with the ball!”

De Villefort made a furious effort to tear himself from Frank’s grasp, panting as he struggled:

“You may force me to use a dagger!”

“If you try it, I’ll give you an arm to match that of your friend Claude Bruant, the Strangler!”

“What is it to you, fool of an American! Is it possible you are one who is working to bring disgrace on France?”

“No! France has already disgraced herself!”

Villefort found he could not get away. He was desperate when Frank finally forced him up against the wall. Twisting his wrist free, he lifted his hand, and slipped the tiny ball into his mouth. Immediately, Frank realized what the man meant to do.

He intended to swallow the little ball!

Quickly, Merry clutched De Villefort by the throat, pinning him with all his strength against the wall, and holding him there, so that he could not swallow. The Frenchman tried to tear that hand from his throat, but he could not do it. Frank’s fingers seemed made of iron, and they sank into the man’s throat till there came a cracking sound beneath them.

De Villefort’s mouth opened, and the tiny ball came out with his protruding tongue. Frank caught it skilfully.

“Thank you!” he said with mocking politeness.

Then he took his hand from the Frenchman’s throat, and stepped back, releasing him. Like a limp rag, De Villefort slid down the face of the wall to the floor, on which he dropped softly, gasping in the most painful manner for breath. Frank slipped the ball into his pocket, retreating a few steps. With absolute coolness, he stood watching the gasping Frenchman.

Murat de Villefort glared at him, with terrible hatred. He made a gurgling sound in his throat, but his words, if words he tried to speak, were inarticulate.

“It is a shame to choke a man so hard, unless the job is finished,” said Merry, with his hands resting on his hips. “I do not like to resort to such extreme measures, but, in this case, you forced me to, monsieur.”

De Villefort seemed to gnash his teeth. He dragged himself up to a sitting posture, with his back against the wall, and sat there, rubbing his throat, and breathing with a rasping sound.

“I trust you will be all right in a short time, monsieur,” continued the youth from across the ocean, “so that I may have the extreme satisfaction of kicking you out of this room. Nothing can give me more pleasure, I assure you, than to kick you with all the violence I can command.”

“You—you whelp!” panted the man against the wall.

“You were very polite a short time ago,” said Frank. “Even then, it seemed to me that your politeness was artificial. The real ruffian showed through the veneering.”

“Fool!” gurgled the Frenchman, once more.

“I came near being fooled,” admitted Frank; “but I tumbled to you just in time. I wish you to make as much haste as possible, for I do long to kick you!”

“Your end will come soon!”

“Not till I have delivered the ball into the proper hands, I trust.”

“That ball will destroy you!”

“What, after the wretched failures made by the Strangler and yourself? Oh, I am beginning to enjoy this, I assure you. I had thought Paris rather tame, but you have made it seem real lively, and have added zest to my visit here.”

De Villefort was at a loss for words. Never in all his life before this day had he encountered a person like this cool American lad. He realized now that Frank Merriwell was something more than a boy—was something more than an ordinary man.

“Come!” cried Frank commandingly; “get up! You are able to do so now.”

Merry walked to the door, and flung it open. With some difficulty, De Villefort struggled to his feet, aided by the partition. He sidled toward the door in a manner that was rather laughable, and Frank followed him up.

“You shall shed tears of blood for this!” snarled the Frenchman.

“All right,” cheerfully said Merry. “I’ll lay in a fresh supply of handkerchiefs, so that I may be ready for the sorrowful occasion.”

“Your life shall be the forfeit!”

“Oh your threats are becoming tiresome! Walk out of the room like a man, not like a whipped dog. You are not giving me a fair chance to kick you.”

But the Frenchman suddenly turned, and ran out of the room so swiftly that Frank had no chance to kick him. Frank closed the door, with satisfaction.

When the boys returned, they were somewhat surprised to find Frank in rare spirits. He laughed and joked with them in his old-time manner, and again they were the jolly party of Yale students that had started out to “do” London and Paris. The struggle in Frank’s room had not disturbed Wellington Maybe, and no one in the hotel besides Merry himself knew anything about it.

Mr. Maybe complimented Frank on the manner in which he had stuck to study on the forenoon of such a beautiful day. Maybe took his meals in the hotel, but the boys were in the habit of eating wherever they chose, and their search after novelty took them to many places.

Browning, who was a great eater, told of a little cafÉ he had found, where they had some rare dishes, and where the cooking was of a high order. His tale aroused the hungry boys so that they all demanded to be taken to the place at once.

It proved to be a rather modest little restaurant on a side street. There was something of a bohemian air about the place, and a number of stout, red-faced men were eating there.

The boys had a table by themselves, and they settled down to order almost everything on the bill of fare. Browning declared that his morning walk had made him hungry enough to dine off a fried boot, or any old thing of the sort. While they were waiting, they chatted and told stories, after their usual wont. There was more or less chaffing, and Frank seemed to have a streak of wit, for everything said seemed to give him an opportunity for a play of words.

At last, the food came on, and Browning could scarcely remain seated when he obtained a whiff. The dishes were arranged on the table, and the waiter departed for something that had been omitted from the order.

“Well, you can bet I’m going to begin the demolishing!” exclaimed Browning. “Oh, say! I won’t do a thing to this!”

And then, just as Frank was on the point of speaking, something seemed to fall, with a jingling sound, on his plate. Diamond bent forward, to see what it was.

“Rubber!” grinned Rattleton. “Sit up straight, and perhaps one will fall in your plate.”

“What is it?” grunted Bruce. “Sounded like a piece of money. Are they beginning to throw money at us?”

“If so, with his usual luck, Merry gets the first piece,” said Harry.

As for Frank, he saw what had fallen on his plate, and lay square in the middle of the white surface. It was a blood-red star!

At it Frank stared for a moment, and then he leaped to his feet, and looked around, to see from whence it came. First, he looked up at the ceiling, but it did not seem possible it had fallen from there. Then he looked in other directions. At the nearest table sat two old men, who were eating busily, and talking quite as busily as they ate. They seemed utterly absorbed in their own affairs, and both were laughing at a story one of them had lately told. The other people in the place were eating and talking in a similar manner, and not one seemed to be noticing the four American lads at the table in the corner.

Frank sat down, and his face was very pale. He stared at the red symbol of death that lay on his plate, and he thought how the terrible sign had come to the doomed Duke of Benoit du Sault. He doubted not for an instant that the star had been intended for him.

Ten days of life had been given to him, and then, if he were not beyond the borders of France—death! And was it certain that death could be escaped by fleeing from the soil of France?

About the mystery there was something to chill the stoutest heart, and it was not strange that Frank Merriwell turned pale when he saw that crimson star lying on his white plate. It would have been different if there had been any way to fight the horrible doom that seemed to creep with absolute certainty upon every person who received the blood-red star.

It seemed, however, that the only resort a person had, on receiving the star, was to fly from France without delay—to get as far from the terrible Black Brothers as possible. On the star were the words, “Ten days,” and a drawing of the guillotine.

Diamond reached to take it from Merry’s plate, but Merry caught him by the wrist, saying in a strained voice:

“Don’t touch it!”

Frank’s tone caused every one at the table to stare at him.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack, astonished. “No one here but me shall touch it,” declared Frank. “It was meant for me.”

“Huah!” grunted Browning. “Never knew him to be so greedy before. Who wants your old star, anyhow? Keep it, and eat it, if you want it!”

He continued eating. Diamond, however, knew something was wrong. He saw the sudden change that had come over Frank, and his heart was filled with alarm.

What did it mean? He was unable to answer his own question.

“I did not mean to take it,” he said. “I was simply going to look at it.”

“You shall not touch it!”

Now Rattleton was attracted by the change in Merriwell.

“Is it so valuable?” he asked.

“It is deadly!” said Frank. “It is the symbol of murder and bloodshed!”

“Boo!” said Browning. “Throw it away!”

“No,” said Merry, taking the star from his plate and putting it into his pocket. “It was meant for me, and I accept it. It is a challenge from the Black Brothers!”

Even Browning lifted his head and stared at Merry.

“Dut the whickens—no, what the dickens is the matter with you?” exclaimed Rattleton. “What are you talking about, anyhow?”

Of Frank’s companions, Diamond was the only one who seemed to have any realizing sense of the fact that the dropping of the red star on Frank’s plate was an incident of deep significance. He was trying to read Frank’s face, and what he saw there filled him with alarm. Surely this great change in Merry meant something. A few moments before, Frank had been the jolliest one of the party; now he was pale and stern, with a strange light gleaming in his eyes. His mouth was set together till the blood was forced from his lips, and a deep shadow had fallen on his face.

Jack felt in his heart that, in some manner, that red star was connected with the trouble into which Frank had fallen. But not even Diamond could imagine for one moment the terrible meaning of it all.

“A star,” grunted Browning. “Merriwell has been a star all his life, and so it is natural they should begin to throw stars at him now.”

And he kept on eating.

“Come, fellows,” said Frank to Jack and Harry, “aren’t you going to eat?”

“When you do,” said the Virginian.

Frank prepared to begin, and the others did likewise; but Diamond, watching Merry covertly, decided that it was a poor meal Frank would eat that morning. He was right. Frank tried to force himself to eat, but the food was tasteless, and it seemed to choke him. He kept up a pretense of eating till at last he fell into a brown study, staring at the table.

He took out the red star and looked it over and over. Diamond nudged Rattleton and nodded toward Merry significantly. Harry, who had an opportunity, leaned closer, so he could see what was on the star.

Browning was the only person who did justice to the food before him. The big fellow was so hungry that he declared he should have continued eating if a star from the skies had fallen on the table. At last it was over. Frank paid the bill, and they left the restaurant.

Diamond longed to ask questions, but refrained. Browning, however, attempted to chaff Merriwell about the star, but discovered that Frank did not seem to hear anything he was saying, and gradually closed up, aware at last that something was wrong. They had not walked far from the restaurant before Frank suddenly wheeled and looked round.

On the opposite side of the street, which in that quarter happened to be rather deserted, a man dressed all in black was walking slowly in the same direction as the American lads.

“The black shadow is again on my heels!” muttered Frank.