"If your excellency will permit me—" He stepped to the prince's side.
That person regarded the cord, strong as hemp.
"What do you mean?" burst from him.
"It is quite apparent."
An oath escaped the prince's throat; regardless of consequences, he sprang to his feet. "Never!"
A desperate determination gleamed in his eyes. This crowning outrage! He, a nobleman!—to suffer himself to be bound ignominiously by some low polisson of a raffish mushroom country! It was inconceivable. "Jamais!" he repeated.
"Ah, well!" said Mr. Heatherbloom resignedly. "Nevertheless, I shall make the attempt to do what I propose, and if you resist—"
"You will assassinate me?" stammered the nobleman.
"We won't discuss how the law might characterize the act. Only," the words came quickly, "don't waste vain hopes that I won't assassinate you, if it is necessary. I never waste powder, either—can clip a coin every time. One of my few accomplishments." Enigmatically. "And"—as the prince hesitated one breathless second—"I can get you straight, first shot, sure!"
His excellency believed him. He had heard how in this bizarre America a single man sometimes "held up" an entire train out west and had his own sweet way with engineer, conductor and passengers. This madman, on the slightest provocation now, was evidently prepared to emulate that extraordinary and undesirable type. What might he not do, or attempt to do? The nobleman's figure relaxed slightly, his lips twitched. Then he sank back once more into the strong solid chair at the desk.