"Yes, Jarlock! A good fellow, Jarlock. A friend who could forgive a friend his faults, who indeed could on occasion overlook a crime when he thought it was the crime of a hard-pressed man."
"What in thunder are you gassing about?" cried Ainley blusteringly.
"About Jarlock and a certain promissory note which he paid, a note which bore your name and his. Your signature was quite genuine. Jarlock's—well, Jarlock denied it, and you owned that you——"
"He told?" said Ainley. "The cur told?"
"Yes, he told me in confidence, after he had heard of Stane's denial of the charge for which he was imprisoned. You see he believed in Stane, as I did myself——"
"And you would make me the scapegoat for Stane's crime." Ainley laughed harshly. "I will see you hung first," he cried. "I——"
He broke off abruptly as a sound of yelping dogs sounded from the wood, and stared into the darkness. Anderton rose from his seat.
"I expect that will be Jean Bènard," he said quietly.
"Jean Bènard? Who is Jean Bènard?" cried Ainley.
"He is the man who Stane and I left to bring Chigmok along."