Then the Senechal's Sark eyes saw the great white head, with its flying
veil of hair, as it towered up for another vicious jab at the fallen
man, and he emptied both barrels of his gun into it.
A wild scream that shrilled along the night and woke Plaisance and Clos
Bourel and Vauroque, and the great white devil reared to his fullest
with wildly beating forefeet, toppled over backwards, and disappeared
with one hideous thud and a final crash on the shingle of Coupee Bay.
It was worse than they had ever dreamed--as bad almost as some of Gard's
own nightmares.
"Good God! Good God! Good God!" babbled the Doctor, as he groped in the
dark for what might be left of their unfortunate decoy.
"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" gasped the Senechal, with catching
breath and shaking legs, as he ran round to join him in the search.
But there was no sign of Gard.
"Run, man!--Plaisance--a light!" jerked the Senechal.
"I can't see," groaned the Doctor.
"I'll go!" and he set off at the best pace his years and his shaking
legs could compass.
Plaisance was standing at its doors, trembling still at that fearsome
cry, and wondering if it was, perchance, the last trump.
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