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"You're hardly in a position to joke about hanging offenses,"

remarked Nat venomously.

"Why not?" Code had gone a sickly pallor that looked hideous

through his tan.

"Because you're goin' home to St. Andrew's to be tried for one."

Code glanced over his left shoulder. The sun was there. The

schooner was headed almost directly southwest. Nat had spoken the

truth. They were headed homeward.

"Where's your warrant?" Code could feel his teeth getting on edge

with rage as he talked to this captor who bore himself with such

insolence.

"Don't need a warrant for murder cases, and I'm a constable at

Freekirk Head, so everything is being done according to law. The

gunboat didn't find you, so I thought, as long as you were right

to hand, I'd bring you along."

"Then you knew I was in St. Pierre?"