He stared at me as if in the greatest astonishment, then shrugged his shoulders, laughed, swore copiously, and then laughed again and said:
"You? Well, you've saved my life, so it's only fair you should do what you please with it. Come along with me."
And he led me away, vowing and protesting, by all the saints in and out of the calendar, that all he had in the world, whether purse, sword, or life itself, was at my absolute disposal.
CHAPTER VIII
PRAGA'S STORY
My thoughts as I walked with my devil-may-care companion to his rooms were busy enough. How could I get out of him what he knew without compromising myself, and how explain that I was no longer Heinrich Fischer, the actor, but the Prince von Gramberg, without starting his suspicions? My hasty exclamation that I could help him to his revenge had been exceedingly foolish, and I was at a loss to know how far I could trust him to keep any secret.
He took me to his rooms, and very comfortable quarters they were. I noticed, too, that he was far better dressed than I had ever seen him in Frankfort. He was a dark, swarthy, lean-faced, lithe fellow, and his black eyes, keen and daring, noticed my look of questioning surprise, and he laughed, showing his gleaming white teeth in the lamplight.
"Not the first time I owe my life to that little fellow," he said, laying his sword-stick, an ordinary-looking stout malacca cane, on the table. "A workman should never travel without his tools, remember that, my friend. And so you are surprised to see me so comfortably placed, eh? Well, I am a man of means, and live at my ease—at least I was. But shall I tell you?"
"By all means," said I, throwing myself into a chair, anxious to get him to talk freely.