"I was a fool--to trust you," said Tom, standing up.
"You are a fool--to come back here," said Reinecke, with another laugh. He advanced a step into the room and laid his helmet on a chair.
"That's as may be. You will consider yourself my prisoner, Herr Reinecke."
The German stared, then with a derisive guffaw, cried--
"Your prisoner? Are you a madman as well as a fool? Ha! ha!--your prisoner! We are at war: yes, you realise it. But your prisoner! Why, you foolish child, don't you realise that you are my prisoner?--that I can have you shot as a spy?--that that is exactly what I shall do?"
"We seem to be talking at cross purposes." Tom grasped his revolver, and with a quick movement pointed it at the German's head. "Not a word," he added swiftly, as Reinecke, after a moment's paralysing astonishment, was turning towards the door, and at the same time fumbling for the revolver slung across his shoulder. "Understand: if you call out, or make a single suspicious movement--drop your hands, sir--I shall fire, and if I fire it will be a signal to my men who are waiting to settle accounts with your askaris. Take off your pistol strap: lay it on the table: your left hand, please: be careful not to touch the button."
Reinecke, taken all aback--what did the Englishman mean by "my men"?--removed his strap and laid it on the corner of the table Tom pointed to.
"Now your sword-belt."
The German obeyed.
A servant came through the inner door carrying dishes.