Two sinister-looking men, who were seated at a rough deal table drinking and playing dominoes, rose as we entered.
Neither spoke, but the man who had admitted us poured out some cognac and handed it to me, afterwards filling the other glasses. The men lifted them to me and tossed off the contents, an example which I followed.
“We are safe here,” observed Giovanni, turning to me; “safe from the storm, the frontier guards, from everything.”
“I engaged you to conduct me to Lanslebourg, not to bring me here,” I said severely.
He smiled.
“This cave has been the grave of many men,” he replied, as he calmly selected a cigar from the box upon the table. “It may be yours.”
“What do you mean?” I cried, thoroughly alarmed.
“Surely you understand,” exclaimed the man who admitted us. “We are outlaws, brigands, contrabandists—whatever you like to call us in your language—it is quite immaterial. Come with me and I will convince you.”
Again I hesitated.