The Golden Snare by Roger Malne

Philip was not unaccustomed to the occasional mental and physical shock, which is an inevitable accompaniment of the business of law in the northland. But never had he felt quite the same stir in his blood as when he found himself looking down the short tunnel into the face of the man he was hunting. For a full minute, not a sound passed between the two men. Philip's hand had slipped to the butt of his revolver, but he had no intention of using it. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should say what he did. "Hello, bram bojou, monsieur."

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