H. Bedford-Jones

“ There was but one way out, as both men realized, but the realization came more bitterly to Trenchard than to the Frenchman. Now that he owed his life to Forillon, the bitterness was increased an hundredfold. Both these men were alike in that duty meant something more than any personal interest to each of them. Trenchard, leaning over the rail that night and watching the slowly heaving water around, grimaced at the ironical situation; Forillon owed a duty to constituted society; he himself owed a duty to the enemies of society—to the friends who trusted him. ”

“ Had Forillon given him one pleading look, the result would have been different, but the spy stood gazing at the dhow as though registering in his mind every man aboard her, calmly unafraid, not flinching from his fate, himself to the end. Give a man such as this, a man so like himself in spirit, a white man, over to be murdered by Arabs! No, better to abandon cowardice and do the job himself. Trenchard swung about to the rail. ”

“ When it was over, Trenchard filled his pipe, the Frenchman lighted a cigarette, and they went on deck. The schooner was standing down the coast, the night was clear, and by moonrise the breeze promised to fail. Forillon was no longer under guard, and the two white men walked up and down the deck. Trenchard was first to speak.
“I am not a man who forgets a debt,” he said, slowly bringing out the thing which lay in his mind, “any more than you are a man to neglect your duty.” ”