Then Andrieff gave his pent-up passion full play, and it was a miracle that he did not kill his man.
He wrenched an antimacassar from a chair and used it as a gag. With one powerful hand he dragged the captive by the neck to the window; with the other he threw up the casement and whistled sharply for Peter, who soon came running up the stairs and through the open door.
"We'll bind this cur," said the overseer through his teeth, and he thrust the man back into a deep, cane-hooded chair. Then he and Peter securely lashed the man's feet together, tying his hands behind his back.
This work done, they paused and listened; but, in spite of the scuffle there had been, there was no sound of approaching footsteps, nor, indeed, any sign that they had been overheard.
"Now, then," said he of the red beard, "heat that poker in the fire."
Peter quickly thrust the poker between the bars of the grate, in which the coals were red.
"Stoi!" cried the man—"Stop! They have gone to the old Château Ivanovitch."
"If you're lying," said Andrieff, "we'll come back and cut you into ribbons for the dogs."
"By the beard of my father," the man gasped, "I am telling you the truth. God strike me if I am not!" and he looked at the reddening poker with frightened eyes.
"I believe the hound speaks truly," said Peter. "Come! we have no time to waste here." Leaving the whimpering peasant tied, they hurried down to the court-yard, and soon were in the saddle again.