'I thought you meant me to take him away,' he feebly explained.
'I was speaking to the slaves,' said Tocktamish gravely, though there was no servant or slave within hearing.
The unfortunate merchant, who was not at all unconscious, and had probably groaned with a vague idea of exciting compassion, now held his peace, for he did not desire to be kicked, still less to be taken out and buried. The Tartar seemed satisfied by the silence that followed. After another glass he rose to his feet and took Omobono by the arm; considering his potations he was still wonderfully steady on his legs.
'Where is the strong box?' he asked, dragging the secretary towards the door opposite to the one through which Giustina had gone out.
'There is no money in the house,' cried Omobono, in renewed terror. 'I swear to you that there is no money!'
'Very well,' answered the Tartar, who had taken the keys from the table. 'Show me the empty box.'
'There is no strong box, sir,' answered the secretary, resolving to control his fear and die in defending his master's property.
The difficulty was to carry out this noble resolution. Tocktamish grabbed him by both arms and held him in the vice of his grasp.
'Little man,' he said gravely. 'There is a box, and I will find the box, and I will put you into the box, and I will throw the box into the water. Then you will know that it is not good to lie to Tocktamish. Now show me where it is.'
Omobono shrank to something like half his natural size in his shame and fear, and led the way to the counting-house. Once only he stopped, and made a gallant attempt to be brave, and tried to repeat his queer little prayer, as he did on all the great occasions of his life.