He turned and entered the grove, finding Borteno at the farthest extremity.
“Borteno,” said he, “I am going to ask you a question, and whether you live or die within the hour depends upon your answer.”
The man dropped his eyes and trembled visibly.
“My question,” said Cromillian, “has two parts to it, but it will take but few words to answer both.”
Borteno made a strenuous effort to regain his composure, and partly succeeded. “You are my chief, and your word is law,” he replied.
“Then listen,” said Cromillian. “On what night, and at what hour, will Pascal Batistelli be in the maple grove behind his castle, and who of my followers will meet him there to get a hundred louis d’or? Mind you, I do not ask for what, for I already know.”
The man’s eyes almost started from their sockets—but he could not speak.
“I do not blame you,” said Cromillian, “for you but obeyed orders, but you must answer my questions.”
With trembling voice Borteno said: “To-morrow night, at nine o’clock.”
Cromillian approached the man and they stood face to face, eye to eye.