Looking him straight in the face, I reply:
“You know who I am, Thomas Roch, but do you know in whose place you are?”
“In my own place!” he cries.
That is what Ker Karraje has permitted him to believe. The inventor thinks he is at home in Back Cup, that the riches accumulated in this cavern are his, and that if an attack is made upon the place, it will be with the object of stealing what belongs to him! And he will defend it under the impression that he has the right to do so!
“Thomas Roch,” I continue, “listen to me.”
“What do you want to say to me, Simon Hart?”
“This cavern into which we have been dragged, is occupied by a band of pirates, and—”
Roch does not give me time to complete the sentence—I doubt even whether he has understood me.
“I repeat,” he interrupts vehemently, “that the treasures stored here are the price of my invention. They have paid me what I asked for my fulgurator—what I was everywhere else refused—even in my own country—which is also yours—and I will not allow myself to be despoiled!”
What can I reply to such insensate assertions? I, however, go on: