“Did you hear me?” demanded the Governor, and there was deadly menace in his voice.
“Quite distinctly,” answered Frobisher coolly. “But surely you cannot have already forgotten that I gave you to understand clearly, scarcely a minute ago, that I will tell you nothing whatever. And when I say a thing, I mean it.”
“Soh!” remarked the Chinaman. “Well, you shall have to-night to think matters over; but if you have not altered that stubborn mind of yours by morning, you shall make the acquaintance of some of these little playthings”—indicating the various machines and instruments with a delicate, long-taloned finger. “There are some here which are probably new to you, but we, in this place, understand their use well. I will leave you this lantern, so that you may study them carefully during the night, and decide what you prefer to do.”
With an ironical bow, the Governor then turned toward the door, his fingers seeking the pocket where he had placed the key.
This was the moment for which Frobisher had been waiting; and with a spring he hurled himself at the retreating figure of the Governor. But that individual was not to be caught so easily. He must have glimpsed the prisoner’s face out of the corner of his eye as he turned,
for he was round again in a moment, and, dodging the Englishman’s furious leap, thrust a hand inside his jacket, and before Frobisher could get to grips with him, he found himself confronted with the muzzle of a heavy revolver, pointing straight at him, the Governor’s forefinger already crooked round and pressing the trigger.
“Not this time, my friend,” smiled the Governor sardonically. “One step farther, and I shoot to wound—painfully. Do you want an immediate taste of what is in store for you to-morrow, or—” And, leaving the sentence unfinished, the Chinaman slowly backed to the door, leaving Frobisher glowering helplessly in the middle of the room.
With his back against the door and the pistol still levelled, the Governor felt behind him, inserted the key, and turned the lock. Then, with one swift movement he was outside; the door slammed, the key grated, and the prisoner was alone once more.
“Well,” he murmured, half-amused, despite his anger and disappointment, “the rascal was too smart for me that time. But,”—here he lifted the executioner’s sword from its place in the corner—“things will be a little different to-morrow, if that man is foolish enough to trust himself here again alone.”