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 hoarse, 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 snatched 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.