pulled out a sheet of paper and a piece of charcoal, and laid them before
him on the table. He jumped at them, but his hand shook so that it only
made senseless scratches on the paper. I heard his teeth grinding with
rage. He seized his right hand with his left, and held it and quieted
himself by a great effort. And slowly and jerkily he wrote, in letters that
fell about the page,--"Carette--Torode--" and then the charcoal fell out of
his hand and he rolled in a heap on the floor.

My heart gave a broken kick and fell sickly. It dropped in a moment to what
had happened. Failing to end us, Torode had swung round Le Tas and run for
Brecqhou, where Carette, alone with her two sick men, would be completely
at his mercy. He would carry her off, gather his gear on Herm, and be away
before Peter Port could lift a hand to stop him. If I held his life in my
hand, he held in his what was dearer far than life to me. And I had been
pluming myself on getting the better of him!

"See to him, mother. I must go. Carette is in danger," and I kissed her and
ran out.

I went down the zigzag at Port à la Jument in sliding leaps, tumbled into
the boat from which Krok had just landed, and once more I was pulling for
life and that which was dearer still.




CHAPTER XXIX

HOW THE HAWK SWOOPED DOWN ON BRECQHOU