All the same, they cheered vigorously as the boat came speeding back,
and they saw Gard sitting between Nance and the Senechal, and crowded
round as it ran up the shingle, and would have lifted him out and
carried him shoulder-high through the tunnel and up the road, if he
would have had it.
They saw how his imprisonment on the rock--"Ma fe, think of it!--all
through that storm, too!"--had told upon him. His cheeks were hollow,
and his eyes sunken, and he looked very weary--"and, man doux, no
wonder, after eighteen days on L'Etat!"--though their friendly shouts
had put a touch of colour in his face and a spark in his eyes for the
moment.
"Now, away home, all of you!" ordered the Senechal. "We've all had
enough to think about for one day. To-morrow we will see what is to be
done."
"Too much!" croaked one old crone, who had something of a reputation
among her neighbours. "What I want to know is--who killed Peter Mauger?"
And that was the question that occupied most minds in Sark that night.
CHAPTER XXXVII
HOW THEY LAID TRAPS FOR THE DEVIL
The Doctor insisted on taking care of Gard.
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