“Fresnel,” he said, quietly, “if, as you say, the gallows claim me, the thing that has brought me to this extremity arises out of the shooting of Mabey.  Had not Mabey been murdered there would have been no need for me to have raised my voice as I have done.  Mabey was your friend, I think.  Will you for his sake lend me the little help I need to save my neck?”

The man kept his glance averted, and the cloud of sullenness deepened on his face.

“I would if I dared, but I dare not.”  Then, quite suddenly he became angry.  It was as if in anger he sought support.  “Don’t you understand that I dare not?  Would you have a poor man risk his life for you?  What have you or yours ever done for me that you should ask that?  You do not cross to-night in my ferry.  Understand that, monsieur, and go at once — go before I remember that it may be dangerous even to have talked to you and not give information.  Go!”

He turned on his heel to reenter his cottage, and a wave of hopelessness swept over Andre-Louis.

But in a second it was gone.  The man must be compelled, and he had the means.  He bethought him of a pistol pressed upon him by Le Chapelier at the moment of his leaving Rennes, a gift which at the time he had almost disdained.  True, it was not loaded, and he had no ammunition.  But how was Fresnel to know that?

He acted quickly.  As with his right hand he pulled it from his pocket, with his left he caught the ferryman by the shoulder, and swung him round.

“What do you want now?” Fresnel demanded angrily.  “Haven’t I told you that I... "

He broke off short.  The muzzle of the pistol was within a foot of his eyes.

“I want the key of the boat.  That is all, Fresnel.  And you can either give it me at once, or I’ll take it after I have burnt your brains.  I should regret to kill you, but I shall not hesitate.  It is your life against mine, Fresnel; and you’ll not find it strange that if one of us must die I prefer that it shall be you.”

Fresnel dipped a hand into his pocket, and fetched thence a key.  He held it out to Andre-Louis in fingers that shook — more in anger than in fear.

“I yield to violence,” he said, showing his teeth like a snarling dog.  “But don’t imagine that it will greatly profit you.”

Andre-Louis took the key.  His pistol remained levelled.

“You threaten me, I think,” he said.  “It is not difficult to read your threat.  The moment I am gone, you will run to inform against me.  You will set the marechaussee on my heels to overtake me.”

“No, no!” cried the other.  He perceived his peril.  He read his doom in the cold, sinister note on which Andre-Louis addressed him, and grew afraid.  “I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no such intention.”

“I think I had better make quite sure of you.”

“O my God!  Have mercy, monsieur!” The knave was in a palsy of terror.  “I mean you no harm — I swear to Heaven I mean you no harm.  I will not say a word.  I will not... "