“I tell you this,” Juarez added, after a pause to permit them to grasp the full meaning of his words, and to gloat over the lad’s discomfiture, “because dead men tell no tales. To-morrow you will be tried by drum-head court martial,” and shrugging his shoulders, “I am the president of the court.”
Phil was about to reply when he saw how futile speech would be. The man had come to taunt them. Silence was their best course.
Seeing that his victims could not be moved, he turned and left them.
They heard his voice in the hallway loudly instructing the guards:
“If the Americans attempt to escape, shoot to kill.”
“Do you believe Lazar has given up the guns?” Sydney questioned as Juarez’s steps died away, forgetting the dire threat in his anxiety for their cause.
“I fear Juarez speaks the truth,” Phil answered dejectedly; “I blame myself for not having cautioned Marshall.”
“No, you shouldn’t do that,” said Sydney; “as things have turned out, it would have been wiser. But how were you to know? It seems incredible that a naval officer, even if he is a scoundrel, would take such a risk.”
“A man of Lazar’s character will stoop to any depths for money,” exclaimed Phil, “and you can be sure that the sum promised him by Juarez is large.”
“But his commission in the navy,” Sydney persisted, unconvinced. “If this crime is discovered he will at least be dismissed the service.”