"M. Crochard," he said, "or whatever may be your name, I admire your dexterity and your daring. I wish Germany possessed a few such men as you. Nothing, I suppose would tempt you—no wealth, no position?"
"I am a Frenchman, monsieur," answered Crochard, quietly.
Pachmann sighed.
"I see I must abandon that project. I am sorry. For, let me warn you, all your dexterity, all your daring, cannot get you alive out of this house. If the Prince is a hostage for your safety, then he must be sacrificed. So far as my own life is concerned, it is nothing. I have two men below who, at a shout from me, or at the report of the shot which kills me, will shoot you down as you attempt to descend the stair. That is my order. There is from this house but one way out—the door by which you entered. You may kill me—I shall welcome that!—but you yourself will infallibly be killed a moment later."
"That may be," said Crochard lightly, "but I am not so sure of it. At any rate, if M. Vard is ready, I am prepared to make the trial."
"I am ready!" cried the inventor, and sprang to his feet.
Crochard rose and moved the chair from before the door. Pachmann, with a steady eye, measured the distance between himself and the Frenchman.
But Vard, his eyes blazing, stepped in front of the Admiral.
"So this is your reward!" he sneered. "You, who would have betrayed me, who would have made me infamous, shall yourself be infamous! Now it is France's turn—for her I will produce a new instrument—"
"That is not necessary, M. Vard," broke in Crochard. "There need not be even that small delay. I have the old one here," and he tapped the pocket of his coat.