Meanwhile, two of Blood's men who had taken the place of the Frenchman's negro guards, had removed the crown of whipcord from his brow.

As for mademoiselle, she had risen, and was leaning forward, a hand pressed tightly to her heaving breast, her face deathly pale, a wild terror in her eyes.
It was soon over.

The brute strength, upon which Levasseur so confidently counted, could avail nothing against the Irishman's practised skill.

When, with both lungs transfixed, he lay prone on the white sand, coughing out his rascally life, Captain Blood looked calmly at Cahusac across the body.
"I think that cancels the articles between us," he said.

With soulless, cynical eyes Cahusac considered the twitching body of his recent leader.
Had Levasseur been a man of different temper, the affair might have ended in a very different manner.