ck a step.

"De young senor speak-a ver' plain," he said.

"It is my way. Mazaro, we may as well understand each other first as
last. You are a scoundrel, and you're out for the dollars. Now, it is
possible you can make more money by serving me than in any other way. If
you can help me, I will pay you well."

Mazaro looked ready to sink a knife into Frank's heart a moment before,
but he suddenly thawed. With the utmost politeness, he said:

"I do not think-a I know what de senor mean. If he speak-a litt'l
plainer, mebbe I ondarstan'."

"Sit down, Mazaro."

The Spaniard took a seat at the table.

"Now," said Frank, quietly, "order what you wish to drink, and I will
pay for it. I never drink myself, and I never carry much money with me
nights, but I have enough to pay for your drink."

"De senor is ver' kind," bowed Manuel, and he ordered a drink, which was
brought by a villainous-looking old woman.

Frank paid, and, when Mazaro was sipping the liquid, he leaned forward
and said:

"Senor Mazaro, you know Rolf Raymond?"

"Si, senor."

"And Colonel Vallier?"

"Si, senor."

"And the Queen of Flowers?"

"I know of her, senor; I see her to-day."

"You know more. She has disappeared, and you know what has become of
her."

It was a chance shot, but Frank saw it went home.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE QUEEN IS FOUND.

Mazaro changed color, and then he regained his composure.

"Senor," he said, smoothly, "I know-a not what made you t'ink dat."

"I do not think; I know."

"Wondareful--ver' wondareful," purred the Spaniard, in mock admiration.
"You give-a me great s'prise."

Frank was angry, but he held himself in restraint, appearing cool.

"Your face betrayed it."

"Ah! Dat show yo' have-a ver' gre't eye, senor."

"You do not deny it?"

"Why should I do dat when you know-a so much?"

"You dare not deny it."

"Dare, senor? I dare ver' many thing you do not know."

Mazaro was exasperatingly cool.

"Look here, man," said Frank, leaning toward the Spaniard; "are you
aware that you may get yourself into serious trouble? Are you aware that
kidnaping is an offense that makes you a criminal of the worst sort, and
for which you might be sent up for twenty years, at least?"

The Spaniard smiled.

"It is eeze to talk, but dat is not proof," he said.

"You scoundrel!" exclaimed the boy, his anger getting the better of him
for the moment. "I have a mind to convey my suspicions to the police,
and