The exclamation burst involuntarily from the lips of Professor Volnow, who had stood by, an amazed and horrified spectator of the rapidly enacted tragedy.
"Professor," said Natas, in quick, stern tones, "I am not accustomed to say what is not true, nor yet to be contradicted by any one in human shape. Stand there till I tell you to move."
As he spoke these last words Natas made a swift, sweeping downward movement with one of his hands, and fixed his eyes upon those of the Professor. In an instant Volnow's muscles stiffened into immovable rigidity, and he stood rooted to the deck powerless to move so much as a finger.
"Captain Arnold," continued Natas, as though nothing had happened. "We will rejoin our consorts, please, and release the aerostats in accordance with the terms. This man's body will be returned in one of them to his master, and the Professor here will write an account of his death in order that it may not be believed that we have murdered him. Konstantin Volnow, go into the saloon and write that letter, and bring it to me when it is done."
Like an automaton the Professor turned and walked mechanically into the deck-saloon. Meanwhile the Ithuriel started on her way towards the captive squadron. Before she reached it Volnow returned with a sheet of paper in his hand filled with fresh writing, and signed with his name.
Natas took it from him, read it, and then fixing his eyes on his again, said—
"That will do. I give you back your will. Now, do you believe?"
The Professor's body was suddenly shaken with such a violent trembling that he almost fell to the deck. Then he recovered himself with a violent effort, and cried through his chattering teeth—
"Believe! How can I help it? Whoever and whatever you are, you are well named the Master of the Terror."