“Your names,” he asked curtly, with a scowl.
“I’m Captain Mortimer, of the Imperial Guard, and this is Professor Dean,” was Mortimer’s reply. “Who are you?”
“Since when have prisoners taken to doing the questioning?” asked the other, with an ugly sneer.
“Prisoners!” retorted Mortimer, scornfully, “to whom—to what authority?”
“Yes, prisoners!” was the answer with rising fury, “and if you’ve any doubt on that score, I’ll soon convince you of the fact.”
He paused a moment and calmed himself with an effort.
“You are prisoners,” he continued, “just as the rest of the Imperial Guard will be soon—prisoners or dead.”
Captain Mortimer laughed derisively. Trained in the roughness of service in camp and field, he was no great adept in the milder methods of diplomacy and the soft answer that turneth away wrath.
“Since when did you escape from safe-keeping?” he asked contemptuously.
Henry rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger.