For some moments the man seemed too agitated to proceed, but he finally went on.
"My son—my son fell into the hands of this wretched bandit. Pacheco took him captive. Then he sent word to me that he would murder my son if I did not appear and pay two thousand dollars ransom money. Two thousand dollars! I did not have it in the world. But I had a little home. I sold it—I sold everything to raise the money to save my boy. I obtained it. And then—then, my friends, I received another letter. Then Pacheco demanded three thousand dollars."
"Der brice vos on der jump," murmured Hans.
"But that is not the worst!" cried the old man, waving his arms, excitedly. "Oh, the monster—the demon!"
He wrung his hands, and groaned as if with great anguish.
"Be calm, be calm," urged Professor Scotch. "My dear sir, you are working yourself into a dreadful state."
"How can I be calm?" groaned the stranger. "It is not possible to be calm and think of such a terrible thing!"
"What terrible thing?" asked Frank. "You have not told the entire story, and we do not know what you mean."
"True, true. Listen! With that letter Pacheco—the monster!—sent one of my boy's little fingers!"
"Shimminy Gristmas! I don'd toldt you dot, do I?"