Escape for him and them would be impossible. All the roads
patrolled and watched, the trap well set, the net, wide at present,
but drawing together tighter and tighter, until it closed upon the
daring plotter, whose superhuman cunning even could not rescue him
from its meshes now.
Desgas was about to go, but Chauvelin once more called him
back. Marguerite vaguely wondered what further devilish plans he
could have formed, in order to entrap one brave man, alone, against
two-score of others. She looked at him as he turned to speak to
Desgas; she could just see his face beneath the broad-brimmed,
CURES'S hat. There was at that moment so much deadly hatred, such
fiendish malice in the thin face and pale, small eyes, that
Marguerite's last hope died in her heart, for she felt that from this
man she could expect no mercy.
"I had forgotten," repeated Chauvelin, with a weird chuckle,
as he rubbed his bony, talon-like hands one against the other, with a
gesture of fiendish satisfaction. "The tall stranger may show fight.
In any case no shooting, remember, except as a last resort. I want
that tall stranger alive.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313