"
"Means?" murmured the Frenchman, as though not comprehending.
"Yes," retorted Captain Jack Benson, disdaining to beat about the bush
for an instant. "If you pretend that you do not understand me, sir, I
shall feel obliged to have a poor idea of either your honesty or your
intelligence."
"Are you trying to insult me?" asked the Frenchman, a warning flash in
his eyes.
"Not at all," Jack answered, unhesitatingly. "I am asking you for a
direct statement. Why am I brought here in this fashion? What is
wanted of me?"
The young captain was now paying no attention to Mlle. Nadiboff. She,
finding herself not needed in the talk, had slipped out at the other
side of the car, and was now strolling slowly some yards away.
"Won't you step out, Captain Benson, so we an walk and talk this matter
over?" again insisted the Frenchman.
"Then you have something to say that you don't think quite proper for
the chauffeur to hear?" demanded Benson, almost mockingly.
"Oh, our good Gaston is all right," laughed the Frenchman, nodding at
the chauffeur.
"The chauffeur, then, is one of the crowd--all spies," flashed through
Jack's vengeful mind. "I might have guessed it. And this crowd have
me a long way from my friends.
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