Mr. Sabin bowed.
“That is my name,” he admitted, “by which I have been generally called in this democratic country. What is your business with me?”
“I rather guess that you’re my prisoner,” the man answered. “If you’ll step right in here we can get away quietly.”
“The suggestion,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “sounds inviting, but I am somewhat pressed for time. Might I inquire the nature of the charge you have against me?”
“They’ll tell you that at the office,” the man answered. “Get in, please.”
Mr. Sabin looked around for Felix, but he had disappeared. He took out his cigarette-case.
“You will permit me first to light a cigarette,” he remarked.
“All right! Only look sharp.”
Mr. Sabin kept silence in the carriage. The drive was a long one. When they descended he looked up at Duson, who sat upon the box.
“Duson,” he said, and his voice, though low, was terrible, “I see that I can be mistaken in men. You are a villain.”