“Ah, you admit it, you admit it, do you?” he said, very excitedly. “Now I’ll shew you what it is to assault me, and I’ll know who you are and all about you.”
“There isn’t the least doubt about that. But don’t be excited. I am Mr. Bergwyn, the American, associated with Graf von Hartstein of Vienna in working the mines here. I told him how I had treated you that night and as a recompense had you appointed here.”
His jaw dropped as he gazed at me in amazement.
The silence was broken by a laugh, deep, raucous and loud, from Karasch—the only loud laugh I ever heard from him.
“It’s all right, superintendent,” I added. “I can understand your bewilderment and your mistake. Tell me how the work promises. Let Karasch there go.”
“Mr. Bergwyn,” he stammered, “I am—I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t try. We’ve had enough of it. Just show the things.”
He was a very humble and bewildered superintendent then, and so ashamed that Gatrina spoke to him to try and put him at his ease while he shewed us about the place until the guide sent word that we must start.
We were standing in the tent then and were alone.
“This is where you had the fight with Karasch, Bourgwan, and his arm was broken, isn’t it?”