“Of his accomplices, if you please.”

“‘Of his accomplices,’ then—­’and on the other hand, given the fact that I know the real name of the Count d’Artigas and in what mysterious safe he keeps his riches—­’”

“Riches stolen, and stained with blood, Mr. Serko.”

“‘Riches stolen and stained with blood,’ if you like—­’I ought to understand that this question of liberty cannot be settled in accordance with my desires.’”

It is useless to argue the point under these conditions, and I switch the conversation on to another line.

“May I ask,” I continue, “how you came to find out that Gaydon, the warder, was Simon Hart, the engineer?”

“I see no reason for keeping you in ignorance on the subject, my dear colleague.  It was largely by hazard.  We had certain relations with the manufactory in New Jersey with which you were connected, and which you quitted suddenly one day under somewhat singular circumstances.  Well, during a visit I made to Healthful House some months before the Count d’Artigas went there, I saw and recognized you.”

“You?”

“My very self, and from that moment I promised myself the pleasure of having you for a fellow-passenger on board the Ebba.”

I do not recall ever having seen this Serko at Healthful House, but what he says is very likely true.

“I hope your whim of having me for a companion will cost you dear, some day or other,” I say to myself.

Then, abruptly, I go on: 

“If I am not mistaken, you have succeeded in inducing Thomas Roch to disclose the secret of his fulgurator?”

“Yes, Mr. Hart.  We paid millions for it.  But millions, you know, are nothing to us.  We have only the trouble of taking them!  Therefore we filled all his pockets—­covered him with millions!”

“Of what use are these millions to him if he is not allowed to enjoy them outside?”

“That, Mr. Hart, is a matter that does not trouble him a little bit!  This man of genius thinks nothing of the future:  he lives but in the present.  While engines are being constructed from his plans over yonder in America, he is preparing his explosive with chemical substances with which he has been abundantly supplied.  He! he!  What an invention it is, this autopropulsive engine, which flies through the air of its own power and accelerates its speed till the goal is reached, thanks to the properties of a certain powder of progressive combustion!  Here we have an invention that will bring about a radical change in the art of war.”

“Defensive war, Mr. Serko.”

“And offensive war, Mr. Hart.”

“Naturally,” I answer.

Then pumping him still more closely, I go on: 

“So, what no one else has been able to obtain from Thomas Roch—­”

“We obtained without much difficulty.”

“By paying him.”

“By paying him an incredible price—­and, moreover, by causing to vibrate what in him is a very sensitive chord.”