When he returned the table was in its former place, but the cover had been removed. He carefully examined the floor beneath it, and realized that there was no hope of depressing the trap from above. Then, at an hour which he judged to be that of noon, the same voice addressed him from beyond the gilded screen.
“Mr. Paul Harley?”
“Yes, what have you to say?”
“By this time, Mr. Harley, you must have recognized that opposition is futile. At any moment we could visit death upon you. Escape, on the other hand, is out of the question. We desire you no harm. For diplomatic reasons, we should prefer you to live. Our cause is a sacred one. Do not misjudge it by minor incidents. A short statement and a copy of your English testament shall be placed upon the table, if you wish.”
“I do not wish,” Paul Harley returned.
“Is that your last word, Mr. Harley? We warn you that the third time of asking will be the last time.”
“This is my last word.”
“Your own life is not the only stake at issue.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will learn what we mean, if you insist upon withholding your consent until we next invite it.”