slowly and stood facing him, so near that she could
have reached out and put her hands on his shoulders.

"St. Pierre has told me a great deal about the Scarlet Police," she
said, looking at him quietly and steadily. "He says that the men who
wear the red jackets never play low tricks, and that they come after a
man squarely and openly. He says they are men, and many times he has
told me wonderful stories of the things they have done. He calls it
'playing the game.' And I'm going to ask you, M'sieu David, will you
play square with me? If I give you the freedom of the bateau, of the
boats, even of the shore, will you wait for St. Pierre and play the
rest of the game out with him, man to man?"

Carrigan bowed his head slightly. "Yes, I will wait and finish the game
with St. Pierre."

He saw a quick throb come and go in her white throat, and with a
sudden, impulsive movement she held out her hand to him. For a moment
he held it close. Her little fingers tightened about his own, and the
warm thrill of them set his blood leaping with the thing he was
fighting down. She was so near that he could feel the throb of her
body. For an instant she bowed her head, and the sweet perfume of her
hair was in his nostrils, the lustrous beauty of it close under his
lips.

Gently she withdrew her hand and stood back from him. To Carrigan she
was like a young girl now. It was the loveliness of girlhood he saw in
the flush of her face and in the gladness that was flaming unashamed in
her eyes.

"I am not frightened any more," she exclaimed, her voice trembling a
bit. "When St. Pierre comes, I shall tell him everything. And then you
may ask the questions, and he will answer. And he will not cheat! He
will play square. You will love St. Pierre, and you will forgive me for
what happened behind the rock!"

She made a little gesture toward the door. "Everything is free to you
out there now," she added. "I shall tell Bateese and the others. When
we are tied up, you may go ashore. And we will forget all that has
happened, M'sieu David. We will forget until St. Pierre comes."

"St. Pierre!" he groaned. "If there were no St. Pierre!"

"I should be lost," she broke in quickly. "I should want to die!"

Through the open window came the sound of a voice. It was the weird
monotone of Andre, the Broken Man. Marie-Anne went to the window. And
David, following her, looked over her head, again so near that his lips
almost touched her hair. Andre h