“To-morrow,” said Jean Petit, forming his meaning more precisely, “one will be dead. The others will live.”
The boat rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell.
It was fully a quarter of an hour before the convict spoke again.
Scanning closely the faces of his companions, he asked:
His voice was the voice of command, of authority, of organisation.
The slave had become a master. The subject was at last a king. The man loomed up in the cold bulk of Power!
It was a case of survival, if not of the fittest, at least of the strongest.
With a deep-drawn sigh of satisfaction the leader drew his knife—which his hand had never left—from its sheath, and stooping forward split out four splinters of uneven length from the timbers of the boat.
He closed his left hand upon them, clutching the hilt of the naked knife in his right.
The ends of the splinters alone were visible.
The three men—their gaze riveted on Petit’s left hand as if fascinated—crawled towards him. It was a terrible picture, all the more terrible for the glory and beauty of its setting, for the sparkle and colour and sunshine which were the picture’s frame.
More terrible, too, in its tragic, portentous silence.
The man under whose face the clutched fist was thrust sucked in a deep breath which was almost a moan.
He extended a trembling hand and drew forth a single splinter.
“Draw!” repeated Jean Petit, offering to each in turn.
The lots were drawn. The spectres waited, sitting silently, their eyes upon the face of their commander.
“The shortest!” snarled the man with the knife.
Their sallow features were full of anguish. Four men knew that it was the mission of one to die. To die—at once.
For man born of woman death is at all times terrible. But with these death had also a sequel!
The voice of Jean Petit rang grim and unearthly. At the word each man unclosed his hand. The open palms lay side by side.
The head of the victim fell forward. A shudder, followed by a sob, convulsed him.
Against a background of blue sky and water rose the hand of Jean Petit, clasping a knife!
By the winds and currents, and mayhap, in nautical phrase, by the “act of God” also, the boat in which Jean Petit and his three convict companions had escaped from New Caledonia was carried south.