“A month ago at Fort-Neuf you were public prosecutor at a trial,” Fenelon said. “A trial at which six good friends of ours received the death sentence.”

“So, the O.A.S. is in this?” Bouvier shrugged. “I did my duty as I saw it. No man can do more.”

"You will, I am sure, allow us the same privilege, monsieur.” Fenelon produced a document from his pocket, unfolded it and read rapidly. “ "Pierre Bouvier, I must inform you that you have been tried in your absence and found guilty of the crime of treason against the Republic by a military tribunal of the Council of National Resistance."

He paused and Bouvier cut in gently, “And the sentence of the court is death?”

“Naturally,” Fenelon said. “Have you anything to say?”

Bouvier shrugged and an expression of contempt crossed his face. “Say? Say what? There is no charge to answer. I know it and you know it. Frenchmen everywhere will -”

Jacaud plucked the sub-machine-gun from the hands of the sailor standing next to him, aimed quickly and fired a long burst that drove Bouvier back against the rail. He spun round, the material of his raincoat bursting into flame as bullets hammered across his back, and fell to the deck.

His wife cried his name once, took a single step forward and fainted, one of the passengers catching her as she fell backwards.

From the well-deck there was a strange, muted sigh from the crew and then there was only silence. Jacaud tossed the machine-gun to the sailor he had taken it from and went down the ladder without a backward glance. Fenelon looked as if he might be sick at any moment. He nodded to his men and hurriedly followed the big man, missing a step half-way down and almost falling to the deck.

They went over the side one by one and from the conning tower of the submarine the heavy machine-gun covered them menacingly. When they were all in the dinghy the sailors standing by the forward hatch hauled on the line quickly.