In one of them he found the worn stub of a pencil, and
for many minutes after that he was oblivious to the passing of time as
he wrote his last words to Meleese. When he had finished he folded the
paper and placed it under his watch. At the final moment, before the
shot was fired, he would ask Jean to take it. His eyes fell on his watch
dial and a cry burst from his lips.
It lacked but ten minutes of the final hour!
Above him he heard faintly the sharp barking of dogs, the hollow sound
of men's voices. A moment later there came to him an echo as of swiftly
tramping feet, and after that silence.
"Jean," he called tensely. "Ho, Jean--Jean Croisset--"
He caught up the paper and ran from one black opening to another,
calling the Frenchman's name.
"As you love your God, Jean, as you have a hope of Heaven, take this
note to Meleese!" he pleaded. "Jean--Jean Croisset--"
There came no answer, no movement outside, and Howland stilled the
beating of his heart to listen. Surely Croisset was there! He looked
again at the watch he held in his hand. In four minutes the shot would
be fired. A cold sweat bathed his face. He tried to cry out again, but
something rose in his throat and choked him until his voice was only a
gasp.
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