'I don't know what the devil has come over you,' cried Toussac, turning
suspicious eyes upon my protector. 'I never knew you squeamish before,
and certainly you were not backward in the affair of the man from Bow
Street. This fellow has our secret, and he must either die, or we shall
see him at our trial. What is the sense of arranging a plot, and then
at the last moment turning a man loose who will ruin us all? Let us
snap his neck and have done with it.'
The great hairy hands were stretched towards me again, but Lesage had
sprung suddenly to his feet. His face had turned very white, and he
stood listening with his forefinger up and his head slanted. It was a
long, thin, delicate hand, and it was quivering like a leaf in the wind.
'I heard something,' he whispered.
'And I,' said the older man.
'What was it?'
'Silence. Listen!'
For a minute or more we all stayed with straining ears while the wind
still whimpered in the chimney or rattled the crazy window.
'It was nothing,' said Lesage at last, with a nervous laugh.
'The storm makes curious sounds sometimes.
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