"That is quite another matter, sir," said Marteau gravely. "I regret that you are an enemy and that I can not——"
"But we are not enemies, Monsieur," cried one of the officers, who had just succeeded in working a gag out of his mouth. "We are Russian officers of the Imperial Guard and since you have deserted the cause of the Corsican you will——"
"Deserted!" thundered Marteau, his pale face flaming. "That was as much a ruse as the other."
"What, then, do you mean by wearing a Russian coat over your uniform and——"
"He is a spy. He shall be hanged," said the other, also freeing himself of his gag.
"Indeed," laughed Marteau. "And do you gentlemen ask me to release you in order that you may hang me?"
"I won't hang you," burst out the Englishman. "On the contrary, I'll give you fifty pounds if you'll cut these cords and——"
Marteau shook his head.
"Countess," bellowed Yeovil angrily, "there's a knife on the table yonder, pray do you——"
The young woman made a swift step in that direction, but the Frenchman was too quick for her.