One lifeless hand clutched at it, as
though in the last moment of life he had tried to draw it forth.
The face was distorted, the eyes were still open, the lips parted.
Death had come with terrible suddenness.
Philip bent lower, and stared into the face of the dead man. Where
had he seen that face before?
Suddenly he remembered. He drew back, and a cold sweat seemed to
break out all at once over his face and body. This man who lay
with the broken blade of Pierre Couchee's rapier in his breast had
come ashore from the London ship that day in company with Eileen
and her father!
For a space he was overwhelmed by the discovery. Everything that
had happened--the scene upon the rock when he first met Jeanne,
the arrival of the ship, the moment's tableau on the pier when
Jeanne and Eileen stood face to face--rushed upon him now as he
gazed down into the staring eyes at his feet. What did it all
mean? Why had Lord Fitzhugh's name been sufficient to drag the
half-breed back from the brink of unconsciousness? What
significance was there in this strange combination of
circumstances that persisted in drawing Pierre and Jeanne into the
plot that threatened himself? Had there been truth, after all, in
those last words that he impressed upon the fainting senses of
Pierre Couchee's message to Gregson?
He waited to answer none of the questions that leaped through his
brain.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123