“Yes, and three more will die if you kill me.”
This was the trump card. I could see that. He had sneered when I had spoken of the executioner; but there was no sneer for this. He presented indeed the very type of concentrated furious perplexity. Like the rest, he was willing enough to kill me; but he believed my threat would be carried out; and fear for his comrades alone saved his hand.
“Do you still refuse your name?” he asked; and I believe he was utterly at a loss what to do or say.
“Not through fear of your knowing, but I allow no man to threaten me.”
“Will you tell it me then?”
“Yes, when you speak in that tone. My name is Denver; I am an American.”
“How came you to be here?”
“Under circumstances which led to my being regarded as the Emperor. Among those who fell into the mistake was the spy, Drexel, whose report to you has caused all the havoc.”
“Where is he?”
“At present, alive. How long he lives depends on you.” He liked this answer no better than my former threat.