Covering it with his pistol, he called: "Who is there ?" "A runner from Jean Croisset," came back a cautious voice.

"I have a written message for you, M'sieur." He saw an arm thrust through the window, in the hand a bit of paper.

He advanced cautiously until he could see the face that was peering in.

It was a thin, dark, fur-hooded face, with eyes black and narrow like Jean's, a half-breed.

He seized the paper, and, still watching the face and arm, lighted a lamp.