“That’s just the point, my dear man,” said the Captain, taking a seat unasked. “Are you aware that England is at war with Germany?”
“Eh, what!” said Sprengel, turning more fully on the other. “What you say? England at war with Germany!”
“England at war with Germany. Yes. That is what I said, and I have come to take your island in the name of the British government.”
Sprengel sat down in a chair and mopped himself. Sprengel had been practically monarch of Christobal for a long time.
It was an eventuality he had always feared, always reckoned with. He knew that war was in the air. He also knew international law, and he was not so much put out as might have been expected.
“Well, I did not make the war,” said he. “I am an honest trader going about my business. If Christobal is English--well, it cannot be helped--till we take it back from England. I claim the rights of international law. My property is sacred.”
“International law, what is that?” asked Blood.
“Something you would not understand, but which your peddling government fears _and_ respects. Something which they would like to put to one side, _but_ which they cannot.”
“Oh, can’t they? Do you mean to imply that your property can’t be touched because of international law?”
“We’ll soon see about that,” said Blood, “for I’ve come to take away every rag you’ve got and every penny. I’ll leave you, for you ain’t very good, and you can keep the house and the good will of the business, but I want your money.”
So did Sprengel. Say what we may about the Prussians, they are certainly plucky enough.
Threatened with spoliation, all the latent fury of the man flamed out and centred on Blood. He stood for a moment visibly swelling; then he charged.
Had that charge gone home it would have been the worse for the Captain. Instead of meeting it, however, he stepped aside; Sprengel met the wall, nearly bringing the house down, and Harman, who had been listening on the veranda, rushed in.
He had brought some signal halyard line with an eye for eventualities, and they bound the enemy without much trouble.
“Listen to him!” said Harman. “Listen to him chatterin’ about outrages to noncombatants. What are ye yourself but an outrage, you fat Proosian! Capt’in, lend me your wipe.”