“You thief! You robber!” shouted Kurzbold, flourishing his weapon.
“Quite accurate,” replied Roland, unperturbed. “I was once called a Prince of Thieves when I did not deserve the title. Now I have earned it.”
“You have earned the penalty of thieving, and we propose to throw you into the Rhine.”
“Not, I trust, before you learn where the money is deposited.”
Drunk as they were, this consideration staggered them, but Kurzbold was mad with rage and wine.
“Come on, you poltroons!” he shouted. “There are only three of them.”
“Draw your swords, gentlemen,” whispered Roland, flashing his own blade in the moonlight.
Greusel and Ebearhard obeyed his command.