“What is this!” said he, taking a backward step.
On my honour I could not have told him. I felt only to myself that if this man baulked me of my liberty I should kill him with my hands. But doubtless indignation was my bad counsellor.
“How!” he muttered, with a menacing devil in his voice. “Does the fool know me?”
I broke into wicked laughter.
“Hear the unconscious humorist!” I cried—and the cry seemed to reel in my throat; for on the instant, dull and fateful, clanged the first note of the hour.
Now God knows what had urged me to this insanity of defiance, when it was obvious that my best hope lay in throwing a sop of lies to my Cerberus. God knows, I say; and to Him I leave the explanation. Yet, having fallen upon this course, I can assert that not once during the day had I felt in such good savour with myself.
He came forward again with a raging malediction.
“Thy pledge!” he hissed; “the paper—the treasure! God’s name! dost thou know who it is thou triflest with?”
I heard the rumble of wheels over the stones down below. My very soul seemed to rock as if it were launched on waves of air. The wheels stopped.
“Listen,” I said, in a last desperation. “It was a ruse, a lie to gain time. I know of no treasure, nor, if I did, would I acquaint thee of its hiding-place.”