One man came to him and searched him. When he found the belt he gave a cry of triumph. The next moment he was examining the drafts.
"Another one was with you?" he said, in excellent English and with a marked American accent. Dick started. This looked like Hallo's work, certainly. "Where is he?"
"He's gone—to save himself," said Dick, bitterly.
"Ah, well—you are the one we want," said his captor, who was plainly the leader of the band. "Now, my young friend, endorse these drafts, in blank, at once!"
"I will not!" said Dick, hotly. "And you can tell Hallo so, too!"
"You will not?" said the other, smoothly. "Then I will tell you what will happen. I give you an hour—because I have lived in New York, and done well there. I like you Americans. If you have not signed then, I shall sign for you."
"That will be forgery—and I shall stop payment!"
"So? Suppose, when I leave you here, I leave you under the earth? There are many graves in the Balkans in these days—new graves! One more or less will matter little. Do you think it will ever give up its secret—the one that shall hold you?"
Something in the man's cool tone made Dick shiver. It carried conviction—it made him believe that this was no idle threat. And yet he felt that he could not yield. Oh, if only Stepan had not left him! He was glad, now that his anger had cooled, that his chum was not involved in this new trouble. And yet—he would have felt better had Stepan been beside him, to share this peril, as he had shared so many others.
"It is eleven o'clock now," said the brigand. "If at midnight you have not signed—!"