CHAPTER IV
THE TRAGEDY OF VISéEarly as was the hour, a door leading to the dwelling-house stood open. The sound of feet on the cobbled pavement of the mill-yard brought a squat, beetle-browed old man to the threshold. He surveyed the strangers with a curiously haphazard yet piercing underlook. His black eyes held a glint of red. Here was one in a subdued torment of rage, or, it might be, of ill-controlled panic.
"What now?" he grunted, using the local argot.
Dalroy, quick to read character, decided that this crabbed old Walloon was to be won at once or not at all.
"Shall I speak French or German?" he said quietly. The other spat.
"Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je te dise, moi?" he demanded. Now, the plain English of that question is, "What do you wish me to say?" But the expectoration, no
