"Now, my dear Jean, we're ready to begin the real game," he explained. "Here we are, high and dry, and down there--just far enough away to be out of hearing of this revolver when I shoot--are those we're going to play against. So far I've been completely in the dark. I know of no reason why I shouldn't go down there openly and be welcomed and given a good supper. And yet at the same time I know that my life wouldn't be worth a tinker's damn if I did go down. You can clear up the whole business, and that's what you're going to do. When I understand why I am scheduled to be murdered on sight I won't be handicapped as I now am. So go ahead and spiel. If you don't, I'll blow your head off."
Jean sat unflinching, his lips drawn tightly, his head set square and defiant.
"You may shoot, M'seur," he said quietly. "I have sworn on a cross of the Virgin to tell you no more than I have. You could not torture me into revealing what you ask."
Slowly Howland raised his revolver.
"Once more, Croisset--will you tell me?"
"Non, M'seur--"
A deafening explosion filled the little cabin. From the lobe of Jean's ear there ran a red trickle of blood. His face had gone deathly pale. But even as the bullet had stung him within an inch of his brain he had not flinched.
"Will you tell me, Croisset?"
This time the black pit of the engineer's revolver centered squarely between the Frenchman's eyes.
"Non, M'seur."