For, to begin with, these men were doubtful allies--even if he wanted any such, which, after all, he was not sure about. Certainly he wanted none to help him slay De Bois-Vallée and thereby avenge Philip--but even as he so paused, endeavouring to think what was best to do, he observed the looks of consternation still on their faces at discovering he had overheard their remarks when outside. Yet, might not their assistance be of the greatest use to him in rescuing Marion Wyatt from evil at the Vicomte's hands? Might not they also be of the greatest service to him in helping to discover what evil it was that threatened the woman? Or, further and better, was it possible that they had some knowledge of what that evil was?
"Harm that may come to her through his fear of what I know, as he imagines; harm that may be averted perhaps by me if I can find her--or again find him?" he had asked Debrasques, he remembered; remembered also that from Debrasques' eyes had come the answer in the affirmative. And he had bidden Andrew go and avert the harm impending; now he was here, and it seemed that an opportunity had arisen which might assist him in thus averting it.
He must extract all that he could from these men; he must lose no chance. Indeed, his only regret was that his manner had not been more propitiatory from the outset, less rough with them, and he prayed that the big leather purse, and another which he had put carefully away, might be able to win their goodwill. If so they should have it all, even though he had to go without food until more money could be obtained from England.
They sprang up--or two of them did--as he uttered the words about the burning house and the flames whose reflection should be cast on the mountain tops, while the elder man cast an evil glance at him that would have augured badly for his safety in that lonely spot had he not been so big and strong. Then the first of these two men, whom he had heard called Jean, exclaimed, "You heard that--outside! And know that it was of him and of his house we spoke?"
"I know it now."
"And what will you do?" while as he spoke he bent forward with a sinister look on his face, and with his hand in his coarse brown blouse, "What will you do?"
"I will tell you," replied Andrew, "only, first, give me that," while as he answered he darted his own hand out like lightning, seized the fellow by the wrist, and drew his hand from out of his bosom. In it was a long knife.
"Let it fall to the floor," he said, compressing the man's wrist so that he winced, while Andrew turned as he did so and spoke to the other two (who had sprung up and were standing over him threateningly) in a marvellously quiet voice, yet one that had its effect.
"Make no interference," he said. "Be warned. Resume your seats or we shall all regret it. Do as I say," he continued, his voice sinking even lower as he fixed his eyes on them. "As I say. It will be best."
Whether it was his height or his broad chest, or, perhaps, the sight of the huge hand that compressed Jean's wrist, which forced them to obey, cannot be said. Suffice it that, after a look of indecision on the part of the well-favoured, dissolute-looking man, and a scowl on the part of the old one, they did as he said. Each returned to the settle, or stool, he had occupied, though not without murmuring and muttering.