"This grave should be a lesson to you!" he grinned.
"It has been," I answered.
"An illustration," he suggested.
"A period," said I.
"To your youth?" he asked maliciously. "To the age of folly?"
"To the time," I said, "when any man could blackmail me. I would go into that grave ten times rather than tell you what you want to know!"
"There are worse places than the grave!" he said, beginning to leer savagely. His eyes glittered. He could scarcely find patience for argument. The thin veneer of his first mock-friendliness was gone utterly.
"I imagine that German colonial life is far worse than death," said I.
"German will be the only rule in Africa," he answered. "You fools of English have set your hopes on the Christian missionary. No weaker-backed camel could exist! The German Michael is wiser! Islam is the key to the native mind—Islam and the lash—they understand that! In a few years there will be nothing in Africa that is not German from core to epidermis! As to whether you shall live to see that day or not depends on yourself, my young friend!"
Being quite sure that he had a plan in mind that nothing would prevent him from unfolding, I did not waste effort or words on prompting him, but sat still. My silence and apparent lack of curiosity disturbed him; there is nothing your bully likes better than to force his victim into a war of words.