“But, unfortunately, his indiscretion ceased after a certain point. His promises to you were overheard. But when it came to the actual information, and the display of the proof, he relied upon secrecy.
“Perhaps he regretted the confidence that he had shown in you. Nevertheless, he was forced to rely upon your silence. You had other friends in Moscow. They would have protected you had that one man tried to cover his indiscretion by silencing your tongue forever.”
Beads of perspiration were forming on Holtmann’s forehead. His parched lips twitched and moved apart as he made a last defiant effort to parry with his captor.
“It is all a lie!” he gasped. “I never learned— I never even saw— I— do not know—”
Froman was standing erect, his eyes harsh, his smile cruel. His well-formed features displayed the hardness of chiseled granite. He was a man of stone.
“You will speak!” he declared. “You will tell all you know! Those words will be drawn from your lips. We have been seeking long to learn what we now believe you know.
“In Moscow, we are handicapped. The few men who know the secret are beyond our reach. Here, in New York, we can work. You will taste our methods, Holtmann.”
“I know nothing” — Holtmann’s protest was wild — “I know nothing—”
“It will be unfortunate for you if you know nothing,” said Froman coldly. “You are the base ore from which we intend to crush precious wealth. Should that ore contain no vast wealth” — he shrugged his shoulders — “it will be crushed just the same. We will not cease until we are sure that we have extracted all that we need.”
A flicker of departing hope came over Holtmann’s face. Froman smiled cruelly.