“I understand it a little,” he answered with difficulty.
“Then we’ll use your own cursed tongue,” I said in Serb. “I have no time to waste over you, so if you don’t answer plainly I’ll find means to make you. How much money did that soldier give you just now?”
He started at finding I knew this and looked about for a lie. “Money? I don’t understand your Excellency.”
“It’s in that pocket.” I pointed to where I had seen him place it. “Take it out, you lying dog. Quick,” I thundered, as he still hesitated. “I know everything.”
Slowly, for it cost him a pang to part with it, he drew out the bundle of bills. “It is my own,” he faltered.
“The gold, too. Quick.”
Again he trembled, but dared not refuse. I had now impressed upon him that I knew his secrets.
“Put it there,” I said, pointing to a chair. “Now. I’ll test your power of speaking the truth. What was that money paid for?”
He stared at me in a sweat of fear, trying to moisten his parched lips with a tongue as dry as leather, wishing to lie but yet afraid; and in his fright unable to coin a plausible tale.
“It was money—owing to me,” he stammered.