"So, M. Lemaire, you carry a pistol cane, that uses smokeless powder
and shoots steel-jacketed bullets?" inquired Jack, turning to the
prisoner, who, white-faced, stood gnashing hi's teeth in helpless rage.
"I wonder if the bullet Hastings dug out of the tree trunk will be found
to fit this weapon?"
"You miser-r-r-rable dog!" screamed Lemaire. "Thief! Liar!"
"Oh, keep cool about it, do," urged Jack, smilingly.
"What's this?" demanded Trotter, suddenly appearing on the scene.
Packwood was just behind him.
Jack swiftly told what had happened, and what he had just discovered,
at the same time passing the cane to the Secret Service man.
"Lemaire, I guess you'd better come with us, for safe-keeping," advised
Trotter, dryly.
"You ar-r-rest me?" snarled the Frenchman.
"Oh, yes; if you insist upon a name for it."
M. Lemaire's face looked uglier than Jack had ever dreamed it possible
for a man's face to look. As Hal and Farnum let go his arms the spy
took a quick step toward Jack Benson.
"Stop that!" commanded Trotter, sharply, leaping to grab the spy.
"I only want to say one word to this young scamp!" hissed Lemaire.
"I will not hurt him."
"You can wager he won't," added Captain Jack, clenching his fists and
watching the other alertly.
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