There was a momentary pause. It seemed as though Tommy's persistent assurance was at last conquering. They were no longer completely sure of themselves. The man in the shabby clothes stared at Tommy searchingly.
"He's bluffing you, Boris," he said quietly.
Tommy hated him. Had the man seen through him?
The German, with an effort, turned roughly to Tommy.
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean?" parried Tommy, searching desperately in his own mind.
Suddenly Boris stepped forward, and shook his fist in Tommy's face.
"Speak, you swine of an Englishman—speak!"
"Don't get so excited, my good fellow," said Tommy calmly. "That's the worst of you foreigners. You can't keep calm. Now, I ask you, do I look as though I thought there were the least chance of your killing me?"
He looked confidently round, and was glad they could not hear the persistent beating of his heart which gave the lie to his words.
"No," admitted Boris at last sullenly, "you do not."
"Thank God, he's not a mind reader," thought Tommy. Aloud he pursued his advantage:
"And why am I so confident? Because I know something that puts me in a position to propose a bargain."
"A bargain?" The bearded man took him up sharply.
