I might as well have spoken to a whirlwind.
He answered me with a wild storm of invective, cursing me for a liar and a villain and a hundred other things, and ending with threats as unrestrained as his anathemas.
“Give them up and go. Go where you will, and take your wife with you. We have no room even in our gaols for either American scum like you or Nihilist devils like her! Give them to me, I say. I have waited and schemed for this triumph; and do you think I will let you rob me of it? Give them me, give them me.”
His manner was so threatening that I half thought he would throw himself on me and attempt to drag the papers from me.
“You are not yourself. You had better call your men,” I said.
Helga, pale and shrinking before his outbreak, drew behind me.
“By God! You dare to lie to me still!” he exclaimed, and hurrying to the door, brought in a couple of men. “Now, I give you a last chance. Will you give them me?”
“I have told you I have nothing to give you.”
The apparent obstinacy added fuel to his ungovernable rage.
“Search the dog,” he said savagely between his set teeth; “and if he resists, use force.”