“What’s the matter? Who did it?”
“Drexel,” Freeman coolly returned.
“Drexel! When? How? I thought he escaped.”
Freeman calmly sat down and related what has already been told, adding that he had been taken as a political prisoner to police headquarters, where he had been recognized and released. The prince’s lips parted in wrath again. He rose and stood menacingly above the spy.
“This is twice you people have had him in one night, and twice you have let him escape! Such infernal blunderers!”
Freeman stood up and his pulpy, discoloured face looked straight into the pale, high-bred one.
“Prince,” said he slowly, and the narrow slits blazed, “do you think you can talk to me as you do to your Russian officers?”
They gazed at each other for a silent moment. “Pardon me—I lost my temper,” said the prince.
Freeman nodded and sat down.
“That Drexel must have the nerve of the devil!” Berloff continued.