The governor, Borodin and Sonya gazed at Freeman, each amazed in a different way. Drexel seemed to be whirling downward into abysmal depths.
“I denounce this as a plot!” Freeman cried on. “And this Captain Laroque is himself wanted by the police!” His face gleamed into Drexel’s. “Captain,” he exulted, “I think this puts us even!”
Drexel had not a word.
The governor looked at Drexel with suspicion. “What does this mean, captain?”
Drexel desperately took his nerves in both his hands and summoned all his boldness. “I was going to ask you the same question, colonel,” said he.
“Most noteworthy acting, captain,” put in Freeman sardonically. “But even such rare acting won’t save you now!”
“I find,” Drexel continued to the governor, in a tone of cool comment, “that condemned revolutionists frequently lose their nerve at the last moment and go out of their head.”
“I’m no revolutionist, Colonel Kavelin,” Freeman retorted. “I’m a secret agent of the political police. I’m the man that laid bare this whole plot. And with this Captain Laroque, you’ve got them all!”
The governor wavered. Drexel saw it. He gave Freeman a black look—a Captain Laroque look. “You dog! Be careful, or you’ll go too far!” he warned.
He turned to the governor. “Colonel,” he said, to recall to the governor his credentials, “to stop the ravings of this crazed prisoner you might tell him that you have had two messages from the administrator of prisons about this matter, in addition to the official order for the removal.”