Now as he thought of her, he pulled his coat together, and arranged the
rough scarf at his neck involuntarily. Ten thousand dollars--but ten
thousand dollars by blackmail, hush-money, the reward of fire, and blood,
and shame! Was it to go on? Was he to commit a new crime?

He stirred, as though to shake off the net that he felt twisting round
him, in the hands of the robust and powerful Dupont, on whom crime sat
so lightly, who had flourished while he, Lygon, had gone lower and lower.
Ten years ago he had been the better man, had taken the lead, was the
master, Dupont the obedient confederate, the tool. Now, Dupont, once the
rough river-driver, grown prosperous in a large way for him--who might
yet be mayor of his town in Quebec--he held the rod of rule. Lygon was
conscious that the fifty dollars sent him every New Year for five years
by Dupont had been sent with a purpose, and that he was now Dupont's
tool. Debilitated, demoralised, how could he, even if he wished,
struggle against this powerful confederate, as powerful in will as in
body? Yet if he had his own way he would not go to Henderley. He had
lived with "a familiar spirit" so long, he feared the issue of this next
excursion into the fens of crime.

Dupont was on his feet now. "He will be here only three days more--I haf
find it so. To-night it mus' be done. As we go I will tell you what to
say. I will wait at the Forks, an' we will come back togedder. His
cheque will do. Eef he gif at all, the cheque is all right. He will not
stop it. Eef he haf the money, it is better--sacre--yes. Eef he not
gif--well, I will tell you, there is the other railway man he try to
hurt, how would he like--But I will tell you on the river. Main'enant--
queeck, we go."