The Russian's cheeks took a purple hue.
"An officer—a general! Do you know who I am, you—you——"
"You are General Bekovitch."
"Well—well—loose me at once, then; I insist on this indignity being removed; it is monstrous!"
"Possibly; but quite Russian. You are no worse treated than you treat your prisoners. If a Chunchuse, myself for instance, had fallen into your hands, what would have been his fate?"
The mild reasonableness of the Chunchuse's reply, together with his firm attitude, seemed to suggest to the general that he should try another tack.
"Come," he said, with sudden suavity, "I know you gentlemen; I suppose it is a matter of dollars. How much will you take to let me go?"
Jack looked at him.
"Say a thousand dollars—that's a very fair sum, more than you'd get in the ordinary way of your—business. Eh?"
"Yes: our business, as you call it, is certainly not profitable, but we do make a haul at times."