"
As he had told the story, Denzil's body seemed to contract; his face took
on an insane expression. It was ghastly pale, but his eyes ware aflame.
His arms stretched out with grim realism as he told of the death of
Almeric Tarboe.
"You've got the whole truth, m'sieu'. I've told it you at last. I've
never been sorry for killing him--never--never--never. Now, what are you
going to do about it--you--his brother--you that come here making love
too?"
As the truth dawned upon Tarboe, his great figure stretched itself. A
black spirit possessed him.
When Denzil had finished, Tarboe stood up. There was dementia, cruelty,
stark purpose in his eyes, in every movement.
"What am I going to do? You killed my brother! Well, I'm going to kill
you. God blast your soul--I'm going to kill you!"
He suddenly swooped upon Denzil, his fingers clenched about the thick
throat, insane rage was on him.
At that moment there was a knock at the door, it opened, and Carnac
stepped inside. He realized the situation and rushed forward. There was
no time to struggle.
"Let him go," he cried. "You devil--let him go." Then with all his
might, he struck Tarboe in the face. The blow brought understanding back
to Tarboe. His fingers loosed from the Frenchman's throat, and Carnac
caught Denzil as he fell backwards.
"Good God!" said Carnac.
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