As the woman who had once held so much influence over his life advanced toward Cleek, her face became a mask, and even he, trained to read the motives of all classes of men, was at a loss to tell what emotions were at play behind her steely eyes. Used to her letting her uncontrolled Latin temperament have full sway, this was a new Margot, and his master mind was puzzled.
"I regret this step"—her voice was hard—"but we have sworn an oath that you shall return to the fold. When that happens we will do with you as we will: accept you back into the band, or subject you to a lingering death—both are in our power—but return you must. We have so decreed it."
"I——" began Cleek, indignantly, but she raised her hand for silence, and went calmly on:
"There are many ways we could force you to return and, as for our own safety you must be rendered impotent to work against us, we hope that you will not make it necessary for us to use the one we have chosen——"
A cry of horror burst from Cleek's lips as Margot glanced significantly at Ailsa Lorne, and the meaning of that glance dawned on his senses.
It was not his life that was in danger, but hers, the woman who in Margot's thoughts blocked the way to his return to his old life—and to her. Broken at last by the horror of it, a string of pleas and adjurations came from Cleek's lips.
Margot listened with a scornful smile upon her lips.
"The woman dies, Cracksman, unless you consent to return to Paris with us to-night."