"And what is your business with him?" he asked.
The officer's brows went up. "Monsieur?"
"You have come to arrest him?" Max questioned.
The Frenchman hesitated for a moment, then: "I must do my duty," he said.
The green eyes contemplated him thoughtfully for a space. Then, "I suppose you know he is dying?" Max said slowly.
"Dying, monsieur!" The tone was sharp, the speaker plainly incredulous.
Max explained without emotion. "He is suffering from an incurable disease of the heart, caused by hardship and starvation. If you go in and agitate him now, I won't give that for his chances of lasting through the night."
He snapped his fingers without taking his eyes from the other's face.
"Is it true?" the Frenchman said.
"It is absolutely true." Max spoke quietly, but there was force behind his words. "You can do what you like to safeguard him, though he is quite incapable of getting away. You can surround the house and post sentries at the door. But unless you want to kill him outright, you won't take him away from here. You can send one of your own doctors to certify what I say. You don't want to kill him, I presume?"