There was little doubt as to who was the thief. Neither Harry nor Jim nor Fernando could have been capable of such treachery. Harry turned fiercely upon Peter Klein.
"Do you deny this?" he asked.
"Yes," said Klein; "I do."
They examined his pannikin and found that the inside was wet. There was also a drop of water upon the floor by the place where he had been sitting. Without a doubt, during the earlier part of the night, the man had pretended to be asleep until the three others were buried in slumber. Then he had stolen all that remained of their water.
Fernando rose slowly to his feet, drew his long knife, and, tottering from weakness, approached the German spy.
"Death," said he, "is too good for you! But, weak as I am, you die!"
Harry held out his hand.
"Let him be," said he. "His cowardice will avail him little. He will only live to see us go before him. He has done no more than prolong the agony of his death!"
The guide returned, growling like a dog, and sat down upon the floor.
During that day hardly a word was spoken. They sat in silence, waiting for the end. Towards afternoon a raging thirst began to consume them; their blood grew hot in a kind of fever; their tongues clave to the roofs of their mouths.