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How would Du Cros act at the supreme crisis of his life? He had heard enough and to spare. As he stood with his hand clenched on the back of a seat, there was a strange gleam in his eyes, and though his features were hard and expressionless as a mask, there was a curious blend of fear, defiance, and abject terror. But he had heard--there was no doubt whatever about that. Bloomer was waiting for him on the steps. Strange that he should have forgotten Bloomer!
The ominous yells that rent the air were not lost on the scowling Bloomer. He shot a quick, frightened glance at his employer. He was utterly reckless and brutal, but, base as he was there were limitations even to his depravity. His glance at Du Cros concentrated in it a score of questions, which flashed through his mind in rapid succession.