Mornac’s silver penknife closed. Presently he opened the blade again and tested the edge on his plump forefinger.
“I beg to call your attention to the fact,” I continued, “that a word from Buckhurst to the provost at Morsbronn would have sent me before the squad of execution. In a way, I bought my freedom. But,” I added, slowly, “I should never have bought it if the bargain by which I saved my own skin had been a betrayal of France. Nobody wants to die; but in my profession we discount that. No man in my division is a physical coward. I purchased my freedom not only without detriment to France, but, on the contrary, to the advantage of France.”
“At the expense of your honor,” observed Mornac.
My ears were burning; I advanced a pace and looked Mornac straight between the eyes; but his eyes did 146 not meet mine—they were fixed on his silver penknife.
“I did the best I could do in the line of duty,” I said. “You ask me why I did not break my word and arrest Buckhurst after we left the German lines. And I answer you that I had given my word not to arrest him, in pursuance of my plan to use him further.”
Mornac examined his carefully kept finger-tips in detail.
“You say he bribed you?”
“I said that he attempted to do so,” I replied, sharply.
“With the diamonds?”
“Yes.”