"I would do it this
instant, M'seur. I would help you to escape if it were in any way
possible. But they are in the room at the head of the stair--waiting.
At six--"
Something seemed to choke him and he stopped.
"At six--what then?" urged Howland. "My God, man, what makes you look
so? What is to happen at six?"
Jean stiffened. A flash of the old fire gleamed in his eyes, and his
voice was steady and clear when he spoke again.
"I have no time to lose in further talk like this, M'seur," he said
almost harshly. "They know now that it was I who fought for you and for
Meleese on the Great North Trail. They know that it is I who saved you
at Wekusko. Meleese can no more save me than she can save you, and to
make my task a little harder they have made me their messenger, and--"
Again he stopped, choking for words.
"What?" insisted Howland, leaning toward him, his face as white as the
tallow in the little dish on the table.
"Their executioner, M'seur."
With his hands gripped tightly on the table in front of him Jack Howland
sat as rigid as though an electric shock had passed through him.
"Great God!" he gasped.
"First I am to tell you a story, M'seur," continued Croisset, leveling
his reddened eyes to the engineer's.
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