poacher at sight of
me had already lowered the weapon.

I greeted him frankly, offering my hand; he took it, then his hard
fist fell away and he touched his cap.

"I have done what you wanted," he said, sullenly. "I have the
company's rolls--here they are." He dragged from his baggy trousers
pockets a mass of filthy papers, closely covered with smeared writing.
"Here is the money, too," he said, fishing in the other pocket; and,
to my astonishment, he produced a flattened, soiled mass of
bank-notes. "Count it," he added, calmly.

"What money is that?" I asked, taking it reluctantly.

"Didn't you warn me to get that box--the steel box that Tric-Trac sat
down on when he saw me?"

"Is that money from the box?" I exclaimed.

"Yes, m'sieu. I could not bring the box, and there had been enough
blood shed over it already. Besides, when Buckhurst broke it open
there was only a bit of iron for the scrap-heap left."

I touched Speed's arm to call his attention; the poacher shrugged his
shoulders and continued: "Tric-Trac made no ceremony with me; he
told me that he and Buckhurst had settled this Dr. Delmont, and the
other--the professor--Tavernier."

"Murdered them?" muttered Speed.

"Dame!--the coup du Pere Francois is murder, I suppose."

Speed turned to me. "That's the argot for strangling," he said,
grimly.

"Go on," I motioned to the poacher. "How did you get the money?"

"Oh, pour ca--in my turn I turned sonneur," he replied, with a savage
smile.

A _sonneur_, in thieves' slang, is a creature of the footpad type who,
tripping his victim flat, seizes him by the shoulders and beats his
head against the pavement until he renders him unconscious--if he
doesn't kill him.

"It was pay-day," continued the Lizard. "Buckhurst opened the box
and I heard him--he hammered it open with a cold chisel. I was
standing guard on the forest's edge; I crept back, hearing the
hammering and the little bell ringing the Angelus of Tric-Trac. It was
close to dusk; by the time he got into the box it was dark in the
woods, and it was easy to jump on his back and strike--not very hard,
m'sieu--but, I tell you, Buckhurst lay for two days with eyes like a
sick owl's! He knew one of his own men had done it. He never said a
word, but I know he thinks it was Tric-Trac.... And when he is
ready--bon soir, Tric-Trac!"

He drew his right hand across his corded throat with a horridly
suggestive motion. Speed watched him narrowly.

I asked