“No,” he went on, in the same even tone, “the disposition of my poor body is not what deters you. It is that other thing I mentioned--your reluctance to premeditated blood-shedding. Now that is purely conventional, if I may say so. To kill is to take life; and the mere manner of its taking can make but little difference to the slayer, and none at all to the victim. Yet the traditions are strong; and I am relying quite confidently upon them, Captain Page.” “You seem to be,” I muttered grimly. “But there is a point beyond which the traditions do not run. Setting aside the instinct of self-preservation--which is stronger than any blood or breeding--your life is justly forfeit. If you had your deserts, you would be lying in some shallow grave beside Major André at this present hour. If I am what you say I am, it is neither more nor less than my duty to carry out the sentence of the court-martial which condemned you to hang as a spy.” “But if you put that sentence into execution, Captain Page, you have still failed to recapture your escaped secret,” he said. “How is that? Who else besides yourself knows it?” “The officer in the camp at Tappan who connived at my escape. I gave it to him as the price of his help.” “Which is all the more reason why I should kill you, here and now, Mr. Askew,” I insisted. “True; very true,” he rejoined musingly. “Yet you will not do it, Captain Page.” “Why won’t I?” I demanded. “Chiefly because of the traditions we speak of. I am an unarmed man--ah, my dear sir, you rashly lost a point in your own favor when you took my poor weapons away from me--I am unarmed, as I say, and can offer no more resistance to a man of your youth and weight than a harmless, necessary cat. No, you will not break with the time-honored code of your order--not even to save your life.” Slowly it was borne in upon me that the man was coolly braving me; nay, more, he was daring me, taunting me. Yet all that he was saying was most bitingly true. “What are you leading up to?” I asked shortly; and he spread his hands in polite deprecation. “Did I not say that we were at the impassable point, Mr. Page?” “Yes; but you did not believe it. You are not talking to hear the sound of your own voice.” “No; nor am I talking to gain time, though it may appear so to you. Indeed, I fancy there is more safety in haste. If your black-faced sergeant should happen in.... Now there is your chance, Captain Page. Sit quietly where you are, with your bare sword to keep me where I am, until your man comes back. Then you can shirk all responsibility and the sergeant--lacking a gentleman’s traditions--will do the rest.” I thought this was the subtlest thrust of all; to point out delicately that I should be responsible for what Champe might do. But there was no escaping the conclusion. “Come to the point of your bargaining, Mr. Askew,” I commanded. “You see a way out, and I don’t--other than the bloody one.”