“I was; I am not. I have perceived the fallacy of giving allegiance to another man and fighting for him. I shall now fight for myself alone.”
“Then you are going on the account?” asked Vanderberg, rather helplessly.
“Not at all. I said—fight for myself! Why should I fight for money? Why should I rob and murder in order to take other men’s money and goods?”
Vanderberg swallowed hard.
“You are certainly mad!”
“No,” said Crawford. “I am free.”
Frontin jerked his stool forward and looked hard at Crawford.
“Now let me have my say,” he said, and rubbed his long nose. “You are free, and you are also sane. You are something like Saint-Castin was once, before the king’s jackal brought him to heel. I suppose you think that it is a lucky chance that you are here?”
“Something of the sort,” said Crawford, wondering at the man’s manner.
“No; it is a coincidence. You never heard of the Star of Dreams?”