“I will not.”
“You will be turned over to the watch.”
“I care not. They can learn nothing.”
“First let us have another look at you.”
He carefully drew a fire ball from a fold of his gown, keeping his weight upon the man under him and holding one hand at his throat. The ball he ignited by rubbing it against the floor and when it was burning he tossed it upon the stone hearth. There was a flash of light and the room was suddenly as bright as even day could make it.
But, after all, he did not look at Peter! For there was something else in the room that claimed his attention at once. It was the large round object that Peter had sought in Pan Andrew’s bed—there it lay upon the floor a short arm’s length away, gleaming like a thousand prisms of finest glass.
“Oho,” he exclaimed, “oho! So that’s it. Well, Pan Robber, it seems that your expedition was no ordinary one. No common house looting, this. . . . Lie still there, or I’ll sink these fingers into your windpipe,” for Peter had tried to wriggle to one side while the alchemist’s attention was taken with the new object.
“Who sent you here?” demanded the latter.
Peter was silent.
“But you must talk. Do you hear that—below?”