"You've got the whole truth, m'sieu'. I've told it you at last. I've never been sorry for killing him—never—never—never. Now, what are you going to do about it—you—his brother—you that come here making love too?"
As the truth dawned upon Tarboe, his great figure stretched itself. A black spirit possessed him.
When Denzil had finished, Tarboe stood up. There was dementia, cruelty, stark purpose in his eyes, in every movement.
"What am I going to do? You killed my brother! Well, I'm going to kill you. God blast your soul—I'm going to kill you!"
He suddenly swooped upon Denzil, his fingers clenched about the thick throat, insane rage was on him.
At that moment there was a knock at the door, it opened, and Carnac stepped inside. He realized the situation and rushed forward. There was no time to struggle.
"Let him go," he cried. "You devil—let him go." Then with all his might, he struck Tarboe in the face. The blow brought understanding back to Tarboe. His fingers loosed from the Frenchman's throat, and Carnac caught Denzil as he fell backwards.
"Good God!" said Carnac. "Good God, Tarboe! Wasn't it enough for your brother to take this man's love without your trying to take his life?"
Carnac's blow brought conviction to Tarboe, whose terrible rage passed away. He wiped the blood from his face.
"Is the little devil all right?" he whispered.