Jean Paul spoke up. "I get no order to tie him," he said smoothly. "He all time ver' quiet. I mak' him sleep inside me, and I tie a buckskin lace from him to me. If he move a little I wake. This morning when I wake, the lace cut and him gone."
"Did you let him keep a knife, too?" asked Jack, sneering.
Jean Paul looked confused. "He got no knife w'en I look on him," he said.
"It sounds fishy," said Jack scornfully.
"Do you mean to imply——" began Sir Bryson.
"Jean Paul sleeps like a cat," Jack went on. "If so much as a stick turns in the fire he wakes and looks to see. Follow it out for yourselves. He can't keep the man hypnotized forever. And once Garrod comes to his senses, the truth comes out!"
"These are empty accusations," puffed Sir Bryson. "The poor fellow has wandered away in his distraction."
"Or been carried," Jack amended.
"By whom?" said Sir Bryson. "We're all here."
"There are Sapi Indians a few miles west," said Jack. "Jean Paul is a power in the tribe."