Dupont
had been sent with a purpose, and that he was now Dupont's tool.
Debilitated, demoralized, 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 check
will do. Eef he gif at all, the check is all right. He will not stop it.
Eef he have 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. _Maint'nant_--queeck, we go."

Without a word Lygon took down another coat and put it on. Doing so he
concealed a weapon quickly, as Dupont stooped to pick a coal for his pipe
from the blaze. Lygon had no fixed purpose in taking a weapon with him; it
was only a vague instinct of caution that moved him.

In the canoe on the river, in an almost speechless apathy, he heard
Dupont's voice giving him instructions.

Henderley, the financier, had just finished his game of whist and
dismissed his friends--it was equivalent to dismissal, rough yet genial as
he seemed to be, so did immense wealth and its accompanying power affect
his relations with those about him. In everything he was "considered." He
was in good-humor, for he had won all the evening, and with a smile he
rubbed his hands among the notes--three thousand dollars it was. It was
like a man with a pocketful of money chuckling over a coin he had found in
the street. Presently he heard a rustle of the inner tent-curtain and
swung round. He faced the man from the reedy lake.

Instinctively he glanced round for a weapon, mechanically his hands firmly
grasped the chair in front of him. He had been in danger of his life many
times, and he had no fear. He had been threatened with assassination more
than once, and he had got used to the idea of danger; life to him was only
a game.

He kept his nerve; he did not call out; he looked his visitor in the
eyes.

"What are you doing here? Who are you?" he said.

"Don't you know me?" answered Lygon, gazing intently at him.

Face to face with the man who had tempted him to crime, L