He Acts by the Code
"His own?"
"Non, monsieur—one belonging to his tentmate."
"So!" O'Rourke paused; his eyes, resting upon the ex-member of the "condemned corps," grew flintlike—hard and cold. "So," he repeated thoughtfully; then, sharply: "Ye try to assassinate me with your comrade's rifle, do ye?"
"Non, monsieur le général—"
The words died on Soly's lips; he was gazing with deep interest into the muzzle of O'Rourke's revolver.
"Tell the truth, ye whelp," thundered the Irishman, "or I'll brain ye! Now—ye shot at me just now?"
Soly hesitated.
"Oui," he admitted at last, sullenly.
"Good. Why?"
Soly was silent.
"I give ye two minutes to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. At whose instance did ye attempt to assassinate me?"
Soly threw back his head defiantly; but the muzzle of the revolver still held his attention. It was inflexible. Moreover, the watch of Chambret lay ticking under the Irishman's eye.
"One minute!" O'Rourke announced. Later: "And a half."
"Monsieur le Prince," Soly blurted desperately.
"Ah! Thank ye. Lieutenant, take this man, and guard him for the night."
The Spahi saluted, wheeled about, and deftly pinioned the wrists of Soly. They left O'Rourke's presence in the closest intimacy.
O'Rourke put his elbows upon the table, and bowed his
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