“Might as well. Watch him carefully. He's desperate, and—”
“I know—full of dope. Well I'm ready for him.”
And so the trio—the last of the procession, if we except Fate—went closer to the cottage whence so cheerfully gleamed the light.
“Who is there? What do you want?”
It was the snarling voice of Jean Forette, late chauffeur for the Carwells, challenging.
“Who is it?” he cried.
The three figures came on.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash, and the gleam from a powerful electric torch shone in the faces of Jack Young, Morocco Kate and Colonel Ashley.
There was a gasp of surprise and terror from the man beside Mazi—the man who had thrust out the torch to see who it was advancing and closing in on him through the darkness.
“Ah!” sneered the Frenchman, recovering his self-possession. “It is my friend the officer. Ah, I am glad to see you—but just now—not!” and he seemed to spit out the words.