The Kommissar spoke with such quiet enjoyment that neither Rex nor the Duke doubted the truth of his statement. It was a terrible blow to them to know that their last hope of help was gone, and Simon, whom at least they had believed to be out of danger, was to be re-arrested. Nevertheless De Richleau was a great believer in the old proverb that “while there is life there is hope”, so he persisted.
“I am not ready to die — give me time.”
“So you still think God will help you when men will not?” sneered Leshkin. “I am surprised that a man like you should believe these effete superstitions. What is death, after all, but a cessation of activity?” He leaned back and touched the bell.
“Remove the prisoners,” the Kommissar ordered when the guard appeared, and to the officer he added in a lower tone: “The orders for tomorrow morning stand.”
They were marched down the broad staircase again, and this time across a yard into another block of buildings. Then they were locked into a bigger cell than the one they had previously occupied.
“This’ll be the death house, I reckon,” said Rex, looking round at the bare stone walls. “Sort of condemned cell.”
“Probably,” agreed the Duke. “I fear that there is little hope for us now. I wish, though, that you had accepted his offer about the jewels.”
“Oh, nuts,” exclaimed Rex, irritably. “Even if I’d been willing to quit I don’t know where the damned things are.”
“If you’d insisted on being taken to Romanovsk, that would have meant another ten days of life at least — some opportunity of escape might have presented itself.”
“Don’t you believe it. They know us too well by now to take any chances. They would have hooked a dynamite bomb on to my pants. D’you think he was giving us the straight talk about Simon?”