Nordhu grinned broadly at the obvious terror of his victim.
A wave of his hand, and the two wolfish figures vanished into the gloom again.
“Well?” the priest demanded, “will ye show me the secret? Five millions have I of these people; what think ye of them? Would’st like to be given into their hands, that they might make sport with ye?”
At the words Mervyn’s terror vanished; in its place came a cool, dauntless courage that surprised even himself.
Better that he should be torn to pieces by these fearsome brutes than that he should be the primary cause of arming them with the weapons of civilised warfare. Should the brutes ever find their way to the upper world, they would overwhelm the whole globe.
“No,” he returned, drawing himself up, “I will not show ye the secret of the fire-weapons. Do with me as thou wilt.”
“So,” snarled the priest, “ye defy me. Bolder wills than thine have I overcome. ’Tis an evil moment for ye when ye cross Nordhu.”
He bent his piercing eyes upon Mervyn, and his look seemed to sear the scientist’s very soul.
With all the force of his brain Mervyn struggled against that fascinating gaze. It was a contest of wills.
Could the priest but succeed in bending his prisoner’s will to his this once, hereafter the unfortunate man would be as clay in the hands of the potter.