He filled the cup and tossed off the contents with an appreciative smack of his lips. "Ze dominie ees worse," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I am go zere and stay ze night weeth heem w'en I feenish my round. He ees fear to stay alone." Lamontaine cursed again--full, man-sized oaths. "And there's not a damned thing that I can do," he mourned. "Not a damned thing!" Le Front leaned forward, the better to see through the darkness the face of the man on the other side of the desk. "Zen eet ees true, zat wheech ze dominie wheesper to me--zat ze theeng wheech we see awhile ago at d'Arcy's ees not a ghost--zat eet navaire lived lak' you an' me?" For a moment Lamontaine made no answer. Then he nodded solemnly. "True," he answered finally. "And the thing that's agitating my mind, my friend, is the reason for all this? Why should Kronk wreak such diabolical vengeance upon this little village?" Le Front helped himself to the rum. Then, as the fiery liquor raced through his veins, he grew more loquacious. "I theenk I know," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He leaned forward and poured forth his story to Doctor Lamontaine. The big man listened quietly; then, when Le Front had finished, he burst forth. "May a just God burn his damned soul in hell!" he snarled. "God! Le Front! Can a man be so cold-blooded for the sake of gold?" "Zat ees my opinion," the constable said earnestly. "I haff reason' eet out een my head." Lamontaine wagged his long red beard solemnly. That for which he had been groping for so long was gradually filtering through his brain. He was beginning to see a bright and shining light. "In the morning I will go to N'Orleans and look into that," he promised. The little constable nodded and, helping himself to the rum again, left to take up his lonely vigil in the bachelor quarters of the schoolmaster. Neither of them noticed the sinister figure that had been standing in the darkness close beside the open window listening to their conversation. Now, as the constable left, he darted to the shadow of a near-by bush, his sunken eyes gleaming malevolently at the big man who sat just inside the window, his long beard resting on his breast, his head bowed in thought. It was Aaron Kronk. * * * * * Lamontaine was weary--horribly so. All of the night before he had sat by the bedside of one of the dying villagers. The day had been spent in study and in making his rounds. Now, sitting with his feet upon the desk again, his chair tilted backward, he tried to concentrate--to reason out the horrible events of the past few days. What Le Front told him had placed things in a new light. If it proved correct, he might be able to win yet over the monster from beyond the pale. Then outraged nature finally gave way, and he slept.