Meinheer Schatt confessed that he was completely overcome by terror.
However, he at last mustered sufficient strength to ask what they wanted.
"You are our prisoner."
"Why? Who are you?"
"We are the secret body-guard of His Holiness, appointed by the Sacred Council of the Refectory," said one of the men, in a mocking tone.
Then Meinheer Schatt knew that they were robbers. Still he indignantly protested he was an unoffending traveller.
"It's false! You have been mutilating the sacred sepulchre of the dead, and violating the sanctity of their repose!"
And the fellow, thrusting his hands in the prisoner's pockets, brought forth the stones and ivy. The others looked into his other pockets, examined his hat, made him strip, shook his clothes, pried into his boots--in short, gave him a thorough overhaul.
They found nothing, except, as Meinheer acknowledged, with a faint smile, a piece of the value of three half-cents American, which he had brought as a fee to the guide through the Catacombs. It was that bit of money that caused his bonds. It maddened them. They danced around him in perfect fury, and asked what he meant by daring to come out and give them so much trouble with only that bit of impure silver about him.
"Dog of a Tedescho! Your nation has trampled upon our liberties; but Italy shall be avenged! Dog! scoundrel! villain! Tedescho! Tedes-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-cho!"