Tresco dimly loomed up out of the darkness.
"By the way," said Cullen Mayle, who had been silent too, "you said that one of the watchers had remained. It will be George Glen, I suppose."
"No," I answered. "It is a Frenchman, Peter Tortue," and by the mere mention of the name I surprised Cullen Mayle again that evening. It is true that this time he uttered no exclamation, and did not start from his seat. But the boat shot up into the wind and got into irons, as the saying is, so that I knew his hand had left the tiller. But he said nothing until we were opposite to the Blockhouse, and then he asked in a low trembling voice:
"Did you say Peter Tortue?"
"Yes."
There was another interval of silence. Then he put another question and in the same tone of awe:
"A young fellow, less than my years----"
"No. The young fellow's father," said I. "A man of sixty years. I think I should be wary of him."
"Why?"
"He said, 'I am looking, not for the cross, but for a man to nail upon the cross,' and he meant his words, every syllable."