"They are gone," he said to Antonio, pointing tragically.
Antonio's hands tore at his hair, his black eyes glared out of their red rims with the look of a hunted animal that hears the hounds baying in close pursuit.
"This means the sure conviction either of her or me," went on Janoc. "My efforts have failed—I must confess to the murder."
"My friend!" cried Antonio.
"Set free Miss Marsh for me," said Janoc, and he walked down the stairs, without haste, yet briskly—Antonio following him at some distance behind, with awe, with reverence, as one follows a conqueror.
Janoc went unfalteringly to his doom. Clarke, seeing him come, chuckled and lounged toward him.
"It is for me you wait—yes?" said Janoc, pale, but strong.
"There may be something in that," said Clarke, though he was slightly taken aback by the question.
"You have the daggers—yes?"
This staggered him even more, but he managed to growl: