Anthony Trent turned to Pauline.
"Madame," he said, as though to a stranger, "I cannot congratulate you on the courage of your friend. So afraid is he of one single man that he wishes me to give my word I will not try to escape. He forgets I am unarmed, in a strange and vast house filled with his servants, with death threatening me at any suspicious move. Are all your noblemen of Croatia as cautious as he?"
Pauline did not reply to him. Instead she spoke to the count in German.
"Pay no attention to him," she counselled. "I know that you are brave, my Michæl. Let him laugh at you for a coward if he wishes. I would not have him hurt you or frighten you for the world."
"Frighten me!" cried the count, "Hurt me!" He flung a little key across the table to Hentzi. "Take them off," he commanded.
Trent examined his reddened wrists with a frown.
"This should never have been done," he declared. Then he turned to Hentzi. "I need a cigarette."
"I did not bring you here to smoke," Count Michæl said acidly. "I brought you here to interrogate you. Remember that."
"I have been without a decent smoke for nearly two weeks," Trent returned. "And I want one. Unless I have some I shall not answer any one of your interrogations. Think it over, count."
Hentzi looked at the American reproachfully. He had supplied his prisoner with the best of tobacco. That he had done so surreptitiously robbed him of the privilege of recrimination. The two guards not understanding a word of the conversation could not deny Trent's statements.