"Do you know where the king, as you call him, sleeps?" proceeded the Resurrection Man.
"Yes—I am acquainted with every nook and corner of this place," replied Margaret, her presence of mind gradually returning to her aid.
"But he does not sleep alone," said the Resurrection Man: "I know all about that. How many men occupy the same room with him?"
"Only his son Morcar."
"Are they armed?"
"No," answered the Rattlesnake; "they have nothing—or fancy they have nothing—to fear: this house is so well guarded!"
"Now listen," said the Resurrection Man, after a pause: "I have no time to waste in words. Will you conduct me to the room where this king of yours sleeps, and help me to get back my gold? or will you have your throat cut this minute?" And as he uttered these terrific words, he coolly drew his clasp-knife from his pocket.
"Oh! put away that horrid thing, and I will do all you tell me!" said the Rattlesnake, clasping her hands again together, while a cold shudder passed over her entire frame.
"Well—I don't want to do you any harm," returned Tidkins, with difficulty suppressing a sardonic smile. "But I warn you, that if you attempt any treachery, I will shoot you upon the spot without an instant's hesitation, let the consequences be what they may."
And this time he showed her the butt-ends of his pistols in the side-pocket of his rough coat.