“So I did,” said Amos Sanderson, with sudden recollection.
“And without your letter of credit you could get no money.”
Amos Sanderson was silent. He had no answer to make. He had still harder thoughts in his heart of Walter Cunningham, whom he accused of the basest treachery.
“Have you any more to say?” asked the interpreter.
“No,” answered Sanderson sullenly.
“And you?” turning to Bernard.
“I ask you to wait another day.”
“We cannot do it. It is clear that Signor Cunningham will not return.”
At a signal one of the bandits went to the door and opened it.
“Follow me,” said the interpreter.