Suddenly a vast anger filled Jenkins' breast. His nostrils dilated in passion, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse with it: "Look! I don't know what's going on. But whatever it is, I don't like it. Now get this! I'm a cop, and the character sitting alongside of you is my prisoner. And I'm going to take him come hell or high water!"
A ripple of laughter began which swelled to a roar as he finished. And the one who laughed the loudest was Lucretia.
"Now tell me, my valorous warder," she said in dulcet tones, "how will you do this?"
"I don't know," Jenkins answered darkly and somewhat foolishly. "But I'll manage. And another thing," he went on after a few seconds, "what's with this rigmarole you're playing?"
"Rigmarole?" Her voice broke into tinkling laughter. "Oh, come now! We don't play games here. I'm really Borgia. So let us sup. Talk will come later."
A servant had placed a dish before Jenkins from which the most appetizing odors arose. Saliva formed in his mouth, and his empty belly reminded him he hadn't eaten for a long time. He raised his fork and started to dig in, but the gesture was never completed. For suddenly he became aware that every eye was on him and that every mouth was twisted in a grin, that laughter hung silently on the air ready to explode at the right second. They were but waiting for him to taste the food.
Nerveless fingers dropped the fork, and Jenkins' gulp was audible. He knew why the grins and stares. The food was poisoned! Yet the others were eating, loudly, gaspingly, tearing at the food with fingers and jaws, eating as though it was the last meal they were ever to have.
"Come, man! Eat!" the woman said between mouthfuls. She, like the rest, held little regard for manners.
"I—I'm not hungry," Jenkins said lamely.
"Too bad. It's so good!" Lucretia remarked. Her eyes were daring him.