“Aha!” roared another big thickset fellow. “You insult the Comrades? I will soon set the sign of the Red Hand round your throat.”
He half rose, glaring ferociously at the Frenchman, but one of his companions pulled him back again.
“No quarreling,” he grunted. “We’re to work together. From all I heard this King Victor doesn’t stand for being disobeyed.”
In the darkness, Anthony heard the footsteps of the sentry coming his round again, and he drew back behind a bush.
“Who’s that?” said one of the men inside.
“Carlo—going his rounds.”
“Oh! What about the prisoner?”
“He’s all right—coming round pretty fast now. He’s recovered well from the crack on the head we gave him.”
Anthony moved gently away.
“God! what a lot,” he muttered. “They discuss their affairs with an open window, and that fool Carlo goes his round with the tread of an elephant, and the eyes of a bat. And to crown all, the Herzoslovakians and the French are on the point of coming to blows. King Victor’s headquarters seem to be in a parlous condition. It would amuse me, it would amuse me very much, to teach them a lesson.”