“Come; enough of this!” commanded Boris, sternly, advancing and clutching him by the shoulder.
“Hands off, you devil!” he cried fiercely, shaking himself free. “Listen, first, to what I have to say!”
“Now, it’s useless to struggle,” Boris declared firmly. “I shall detain you here and send for the police.”
“No you won’t. Curse you! They are following me now. They saw me enter the hotel. Hark! they’re on the stairs. But I have something—something to say.”
There was a sly, crafty look in his distended eyes.
“Well; what is it?” I asked, at the same time glancing at Vera, and noting that her delicate face was firm-set and pale.
“You—you robbed me of her, and, by Heaven, some satisfaction is due to me. I demand it—do you understand?” he screamed with an imprecation, addressing me.
“It is I who protected my sister, and assisted her to evade the clutches of a heartless villain—the man who murdered my wife!” interposed Boris, infuriated, emphasising his words with a foreign oath.
“Is it this man?” I demanded, bewildered.
“Yes,” he answered, angrily. “This is the scoundrel who murdered two defenceless women.” Turning towards him, he added quickly, “Ah! Demetrius Orselska, the revenge I have so long sought is now near at hand.”