"You appear to think so. I am Kay McKay; that is answer enough for you."
"Your comrade is with you—Evelyn Erith?"
"None of your business," returned McKay, coolly.
"Very well; let it be so then. But that dead man there—why did you kill your American comrade?"
"He was a camouflaged Boche," said McKay contemptously. "And I am very sure that you're another—you there, in your foolish Swiss uniform. So say what you have to say and clear out!"
The officer came close to the edge of the chasm: "I can not expect you to believe me," he said, "and yet I really am what I appear to be, an officer of Swiss Mountain Artillery. If you think I am something else why do you not shoot me?"
McKay was silent. "Nobody would know," said the other. "You can kill me very easily. I should fall into the ravine—down through that lake of cloud below. Nobody would ever find me. Why don't you shoot?"
"I'll shoot when I see fit," retorted McKay in a sombre voice. Presently he added in tones that rang a little yet trembled too—perhaps from physical reasons—"What do you want of a hunted man like me?"
"I want you to leave Swiss territory!"
"Leave!" McKay's laugh was unpleasant. "You know damned well I can't leave with Les Errues woods crawling alive with Huns."