“Don’t insult the Father. He has only done his duty.” The irony of the praise for the falsehood we had acted together, struck the good man and I saw him wince.
“I have done what I have done,” he murmured.
“See if he’s armed,” ordered the agent. “He stole my revolver.”
“Your comrades took it from me in their turn. You’ll find it at Schirmskad. I’m not armed. I don’t need any weapons any longer.”
He looked up with a scowl, and a start. “Schirmskad?”
I laughed significantly. “On my way to the frontier. You’re too late, my friend; and within the next few hours I am going to show you what a fool you’ve made of yourself.”
“Where’s the woman?”
“Wire to Schirmskad and ask who escaped when the cottage of woodcutter Krempel was burned down last night. You know how near that is to the frontier.” I did not, but I bluffed him.
“Did he ride up alone?” he asked Father Ambrose.
“Yes, at the moment I sent for you.”