"Come, which shall it be, Croisset ?" A cold glitter, like the snap of sparks from striking steels, shot from the Frenchman's eyes.

The grayish pallor went from his face.

His teeth gleamed in the enigmatic smile that had half undone Howland in the fight.
"You are mistaken in some things, M'seur," he said quietly.

"Until to-day I have fought for you and not against you.

But now you have left me but one choice.