A clammy chill passed over Howland as he read the time.
"Half-past four."
The Frenchman shivered; his fingers clasped and unclasped nervously as he leaned nearer his companion.
"The Virgin bear me witness that I wish I might strike ten years off my life and give you freedom," he breathed quickly. "I would do it this instant, M'seur. I would help you to escape if it were in any way possible. But they are in the room at the head of the stair--waiting. At six--"
Something seemed to choke him and he stopped.
"At six--what then?" urged Howland. "My God, man, what makes you look so? What is to happen at six?"
Jean stiffened. A flash of the old fire gleamed in his eyes, and his voice was steady and clear when he spoke again.
"I have no time to lose in further talk like this, M'seur," he said almost harshly. "They know now that it was I who fought for you and for Meleese on the Great North Trail. They know that it is I who saved you at Wekusko. Meleese can no more save me than she can save you, and to make my task a little harder they have made me their messenger, and--"
Again he stopped, choking for words.
"What?" insisted Howland, leaning toward him, his face as white as the tallow in the little dish on the table.