night, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meet
again. But, my friend, one must not be too rash--no, not too brutal.
Even the sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still.
Noise is not battle. Well, 'au revoir!' To-morrow I shall tell you many
things." He caught Shon's hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went
out indolently singing a favourite song,--"Voici le sabre de mon Pere!"

It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At last
he spoke aloud: "Well, I shall do it, now I have him--so!" And he opened
and shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the more
habited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house standing
very close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door and
listened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to the
window and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the door,
opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set its
mark--greed of the flesh, greed of men's praise, greed of money. His
frame was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shifty
but intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive,
something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy with
meat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fat
looked sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at being
brave--"How dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do you
want?"

The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. "Pardon!" he said.
"Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?"

"Yes, I know you."

"Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with you
very quietly about a scandal--a scandal, you understand. This is Sunday
night, a good time to talk of such things." Pierre seated himself at the
table, opposite the man.

But the man replied: "I have nothing to say to you. You are--"

The half-breed interrupted: "Yes, I know, a Pagan fattening--" here he
smiled, and looked at his thin hands--"fattening for the shambles of the
damned, as you have said from the pulpit, Reverend Ezra Badgley. But you
will permit me--a sinner as you say--to speak to you like this while you
sit down and eat. I regret to disturb you, but you will sit, eh?"

Pierre's tone was smooth and low, almost deferential, and his eyes, wide
open now, and hot with some hidden purpo