me into this man's hands?"

"You have said it."

"But - "

Crispin stopped short. The pallor of his face increased; it
became ashen, and his eyes glittered as though a fever consumed
him. He sank back into his chair, and setting both hands upon
the table before him, he looked straight at Hogan.

"But my son, Hogan, my son?" he pleaded, and his voice was
broken as no man had heard it yet. "Oh, God in heaven!" he
cried in a sudden frenzy. "What hell's work is this?"

Behind his blue lips his teeth were chattering now. His hands
shook as he held them, still clenched, before him. Then, in a
dull, concentrated voice:

"Hogan," he vowed, "I'll kill him for it. Fool, blind, pitiful
fool that I am."

Then - his face distorted by passion - he broke into a torrent
of imprecations that was at length stemmed by Hogan.

"Wait, Cris," said he, laying his hand upon the other's arm.
"It is not all false. Joseph Ashburn sought, it is true, to
betray you into the hands of Colonel Pride, sending you to the
sign of the Anchor with the assurance that there you should
have news of your son. That was false; yet not all false.