"You can't keep me, and you dare not kill me," continued Vernet, noting the impression he had made. "All of you are in hiding from the police, and to kill an officer is conspicuous business--not like cracking the skull of a rag-picker, Papa Francoise. As for you, my lad, you've got a sort of State's-prison air about you. I could almost fancy you a chap I saw behind the bars not long ago, serving out a long sentence." He paused to note the effect of his words, and was somewhat surprised to see Franz rest the revolver upon his knee, while he continued to gaze at him curiously. Vernet had made, or intended to make, a sharp home thrust. In searching out the history of the Francoises, he had stumbled upon the fact that they had a son in prison; and the mutterings of Franz, while he lay upon the pallet, coupled with the fact that Franz and Papa wore upon their heads locks of the same fiery hue, had awakened in his mind a strong suspicion. "Maybe ye might take a fancy ter think I'm that same feller," suggested Franz, after a moment's silence. "What then?" "Then," replied Vernet, "every moment that you detain me here increases your own danger." "Humph!" grunted Franz, as he rose and crossing to Mamma's side, began with her a whispered conversation. Vernet watched them curiously for a moment, and then turned his face toward Papa. "Look here, Francoise," he began, somewhat sternly, considering his position; "I've been looking for you ever since you left the old place, and I'm disposed to be friendly. Now, I may as well tell you that there is a rumor afloat, to the effect that your son, who was 'sent up' years ago, has lately broke jail, and that you harbor him. That does not concern me, however. This insolent fellow, if he is or is not your son, may go, so far as I am concerned, and no harm shall come to him or you through me. What I want of you, is a bit of information." From the moment of his capture, Vernet had believed himself equal to the situation. Even now he scarcely felt that these people would dare to do him bodily injury. As may readily be surmised, his talk of confederates near at hand was all fiction. He had sought out Papa Francoise hoping to win from him something that would criminate Alan Warburton, and to use him as a tool. To arrest Papa might frustrate his own schemes, and, in the double game he was playing, Van Vernet was too wise to call upon the police for assistance or protection. "You want--information?" queried Papa; "what about?" Vernet hesitated, and then said slowly: "I want to know all that you can tell me about the Sailor who killed Josef Siebel." Papa gasped, stammered, and turned his face toward Franz, who now came forward, saying fiercely: "Look here, my fly cop, afore ye ask any more important questions, just answer a few." "Take care, jail bird!" cried Vernet, enraged at his persistent interference, "or I may give the police a chance to ask you a question too many!"