“Now another.” Steve dictated the following to the commanding officer in the village: “I have been called away unexpectedly on business connected with the man I want, Captain Allen. Take no steps in my absence, and credit no reports not signed by me personally.” Now sign it, and add this postscript: “I have decided to pursue a more conciliatory policy toward the prisoners. Please make them entirely comfortable, and give their friends access to them.” Sign that, and mark it to be delivered in the morning, and leave it on your table.
“Leave it on my table?” Leech’s face blanched.
“Yes, you are going with me.”
Just then steps were heard on the walk outside, and the murmur of low voices reached them. A gleam of hope stole into Leech’s face. Steve Allen heard too, and he listened intently. As he turned his eyes again on Leech, a new light appeared in the latter’s eyes; fear had suddenly changed to joy.
“Aha! Captain Allen, our positions are reversed again. Let us drop our masks indeed! You are my prisoner now. Those are my sentries. The house is surrounded by soldiers. Ah! ha-ha-ha!” he laughed, leaning back in his chair, eying Steve, and rubbing his hands in glee.
Steve shifted his seat a little, displaying the butt of a revolver.
“You fool!” he said, with that coolness which was Leech’s envy and despair, and which made him in a way admire Steve more than any other man he knew. “Suppose they are your men? You are going with me all the same. If they come in here, you are still my prisoner; and one word—one look from you—one bare suspicion on their part that I am not going on your invitation; that it is not voluntary on your part—and you are a dead man.” He loosened his pistol, and, while he listened, sat looking at Leech with a cool assurance on his face that made Leech gasp.
There was a sharp knock at the outer door. As Steve listened his expression changed to one of amusement.
“Call to them to come in, and remember you were never in greater peril than at this moment.”