“I see,” said Cornelius, “this is a trap you are laying for me.”
“Now, for the last time, will you tell me where my daughter is?”
“Guess it, you rogue, if you don’t know it.”
“Only wait, only wait,” growled Gryphus, white with rage, and with quivering lips, as his brain began to turn. “Ah, you will not tell me anything? Well, I’ll unlock your teeth!”
He advanced a step towards Cornelius, and said, showing him the weapon which he held in his hand,—
“Do you see this knife? Well, I have killed more than fifty black cocks with it, and I vow I’ll kill their master the devil, as well as them.”
“But, you blockhead,” said Cornelius, “will you really kill me?”
“I shall open your heart, to see in it the place where you hide my daughter.”
Saying this, Gryphus in his frenzy rushed towards Cornelius, who had barely time to retreat behind his table to avoid the first thrust; but as Gryphus continued, with horrid threats, to brandish his huge knife, and as, although out of the reach of his weapon, yet, as long as it remained in the madman’s hand, the ruffian might fling it at him,—Cornelius lost no time, and, availing himself of the stick, which he held tight under his arm, dealt the jailor a vigorous blow on the wrist of that hand which held the knife.
The knife fell to the ground, and Cornelius put his foot on it.
Then, as Gryphus seemed bent upon engaging in a struggle which the pain in his wrist, and shame for having allowed himself to be disarmed, would have made desperate, Cornelius took a decisive step, belabouring his jailor with the most heroic self-possession, and deliberately aiming his blows at him.
