“Up,” cried Wilson, snatching him to his feet. “Lead the way or I shoot.”
He placed the cold muzzle of his revolver against the nape of the fellow’s neck and drew a shriek from him.
“No! No! Do not shoot! But do not go there!”
“Not another word. On, quickly!”
“I do not know where,––I swear I do not know, signor!”
But hearing the sharp click of the weapon as Wilson cocked it, he led the way. They passed the length of several corridors which brought them to an open courtyard on the further side of which lay a low, granite building connected with the palace proper by a series of other small buildings. The fellow pointed to an open door.
“In there, signor. In there.”
“Go on, then.”
“But the signor is not going to take me in there? I pray,––see, I pray on my knees not.”