"Where are your wits, general?" cried the man who had spoken first, and who appeared to exercise some amount of authority. "We all know that some one betrayed us; and Fritz Gassen was right--it could only be this man." He jerked his hand in my direction. "And we know where he got it from"; and he emphasized this with a nod toward the old Baron lying so still and white on the table. "Didn't he tell us so himself?"
"He does not know what he says; he's out of his mind," was the reply; and for a while they wrangled.
"Well, where's Gassen? He can settle this between us," said the newcomer after a while.
"He has gone"; and the speaker added the story about the supposed shot and subsequent disappearance of Gassen.
The men listened very intently, and kept shooting black angry glances of suspicion at me. They guessed what had occurred.
"Where is he?" they demanded, turning to me, when the "general" finished.
I was on the horns of a dilemma. If I made any show of force I should be giving the lie to the "general's" statement.
"He went off down the river to look for you," I answered.
"'Down' the river?" cried another quickly. "You hear that?"
"Well, up the river then," I said sullenly.