“No. Alive.”
The breath came back to him. He tried not to show it but a faint smile of satisfaction played around his mouth.
“I understand you now, Henri,” he went on. “You have a good heart. If he is still there, you want to set him free.”
With that he clapped my arm under his as he had done just before breakfast. With a little more hurry than was necessary he made with me towards the woods.
I led him to the spot where I thought the man was lashed to the tree. But the only trace of him we found was a length of rope. It was frayed and worn at the ends. No doubt he had set himself free by hours of rubbing against the rough bark. The ground about the trunk was stamped and torn as though by the marching of a hundred feet.
“The villain’s gone,” I remarked.
“Why do you call him a villain?” De Marsac came back at me with his soft sneer.
“Because, Sieur De Marsac,” said I with more boldness than caution, “he tried to take my life.”
De Marsac whistled.
“And he failed?” he said. His voice flattened as though it was a thing he regretted. Then he came close to me. “Do you know, Henri,” he continued in the same slow tone, “any of us might be killed without a moment’s warning. There is a man following me at this very minute who is thirsting for my life.”