His terror was so sharp and evident that I could not withstand the temptation to play upon it.
"Why should I pardon you?" I demanded. "What mercy did you show to me—you infamous wretch?"
"M'sieur, I was but the tool of others. Do not kill me. For Christ's sake put up your pistol."
"On the contrary, Jussieu," I said in a terrible voice. "Unless you consent to obey me implicitly, you shall die this instant, like the dog you are!"
"Mercy, mercy!" he cried. "I shall do anything you require—anything."
"Will you betray your master?"
"Yes, yes; only, for God's sake, put up your pistol!"
For answer I thrust the muzzle even harder into his side. "Now," said I, "tell me!" But he uttered a strangled cry.
"M'sieur—I—I—I faint, I die," he gasped, and to my astonishment he lurched forward and fell in a limp heap at my feet. I thought at first it was a trick, and held myself in readiness for a desperate struggle, for in good truth I dared not use my pistol. But the passing lamps showed me Jussieu's black face turned almost grey, and his staring eyes hideously upturned. The craven had swooned. I fell back chuckling with delight, for I had been until that moment wondering how on earth I could possibly contrive to force the brute into my hotel in case he should turn rusty and decline to accompany me.
As it eventuated, Jussieu was carried, still unconscious, to my room by two burly porters, whose garrulous surprise, occasioned by so strange a service, I reduced to speechlessness with gold. It was five minutes to eleven when I got rid of them. I locked my door and approached the couch on which the negro lay. He was beginning to wake up. Hastily tearing a linen sheet into strips I succeeded in securely binding his hands and feet before he had properly regained his consciousness. I then fastened him to the couch and stood over him with my pistol cocked.