"What's the row, Pidge?" asked Burroughs, when the sentinels and Chin Tai had been dismissed, and the door closed behind them.
"Oh, he'd been telling a heap of lies, and when he started abusing you, I knocked him down."
Reinhardt started when he heard Burroughs speak in his natural voice. The disguise as it were fell off: his vague misgiving was justified; the cropped hair, the thickened eyebrows, the upturned moustache, no longer imposed upon him, and he writhed in his bonds.
Burroughs gave him a contemptuous stare.
"I don't care, personally," he said very quietly, "what lies you tell about me. There never has been any love lost between us. All I regret is that, among Chinamen, I should have had to treat a European--even such a European as you are--with such indignity. But you've brought it on yourself. You're a dangerous man. You're in league with these rebels; I know it, you needn't protest; in spite of that, in spite of my appeal to you, you wouldn't move a finger in Errington's behalf. I must treat you as an enemy--a secret enemy, and take the precautions that fit the case. Errington and I have matters to discuss, and owing to the action of your friends the rebels, we have to discuss them here. Your company has been forced upon us, so I'll take the liberty of relieving you from the necessity of overhearing our conversation."
"I protest," the German began, blusteringly. "I don't want to hear your conversation. Speak in ze corner; whisper."
Burroughs paid him no attention, but opened the door and called to Chin Tai.
"Stuff up Mr. Reinhardt's ears," he said.
Chin Tai produced a dirty rag from the pouch at his waist.
"No, not that," said Errington impulsively. "Haven't you a handkerchief, Ted?"