"Poynter!" panted Themar, staring.
"At your service!" Mr. Poynter assured him and politely begged instant
and accurate knowledge of a number of things, of a knife and a bullet,
of Themar's spying, of a cuff, of the man by the fire who read
Herodotus, of a motorcyclist seeking for days to overtake a nomad.
"I--I dare not tell," faltered Themar, moistening his lips. "I--I am
bound by an oath--"
"To spy and steal and murder!"
Themar stared sullenly at the river, gray now with the coming dawn.
His dark face was drawn and haggard.
And again Mr. Poynter shot a volley of questions and awaited the
answers with dangerous quiet.
Shaking, Themar refused again to answer. With even more quietness and
courtesy Philip obligingly gave him a final opportunity and finding
Themar white and inexorable, smiled.
"Very well, then," said Mr. Poynter warmly, "I'll take it out of your
hide." Which he proceeded to do with that consummate thoroughness
which characterized his every action, husbanding the strength of his
long, lean arms until a knife appeared in Themar's hand. Then in
deadly silence Mr. Poynter reduced his treacherous assailant to a
battered hulk upon the towpath.
A mule bell tinkled in the quiet.
Upstream on the path between canal and river two mules appeared with a
man slouching heavily behind them.
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