"It is a lie, Alexander Poubalov! I sought him not."
"You know whether it is a lie, or not. So do I. Therefore we will not argue the matter. Well, what are you going to do now that you are here?"
Litizki boiled with futile rage. He was trapped not only literally as Poubalov's prisoner, but he felt how weak he was in any contest of words with this shrewd master of deceit. He had spoken truly in telling Paul Palovna that it mattered not what became of him, and although those words were uttered under the influence of a desire for vengeance that constant dwelling upon had turned to conviction that he would succeed, he now felt them to be as true, for he despaired, as he had been despairing for years, of accomplishing anything that would be worth the doing. Why had he presumed to undertake the hopeless task of outwitting Poubalov? He saw how wildly foolish had been his course, but his conviction remained unshaken.
"Have it so, then," he hissed; "respect for law is not in your character. You have unlawfully taken possession of Ivan Strobel."
"Yes?" responded Poubalov quietly; "you are very sure of that?"
"I know it, yes; I did come here to find him, to liberate, ay, to kill you if need be!"
"Indeed! the same, familiar antagonism to the authority of Russia, I suppose. The Russian agent is to you like the red flag to the bull. Yes, very interesting. Well, Litizki?"
"Alexander Poubalov!" exclaimed the tailor, rising and speaking with all his long-treasured bitterness, "you have Ivan Strobel, an American citizen, in your power; you restrain him illegally of his liberty, with what purpose it matters not. I, as an American citizen, demand that you release him."
Poubalov looked with mock admiration at the fierce but grotesque figure before him, and said:
"Good! very good! I am not certain but that demand is good law. I shall have to think of it. When, Nicholas Litizki?"