They looked at each other intently, neither wincing nor lowering his gaze. The Wanderer saw that he had touched upon Keyork’s greatest and most important secret, and Keyork fancied that his companion knew more than he actually did. But nothing further was said, for Keyork was far too wise to enter into explanation, and the Wanderer knew well enough that if he was to learn anything it must be by observation and not by questioning. Keyork filled both glasses in silence and both men drank before speaking again.
“And now that we have refreshed ourselves,” he said, returning naturally to his former manner, “we will go and find Israel Kafka. It is as well that we should have given him a little time to himself. He may have returned to his senses without any trouble on our part. Shall we take the Individual?”
“As you please,” the Wanderer answered indifferently as he rose from his place.
“It is very well for you not to care,” observed Keyork. “You are big and strong and young, whereas I am a little man and very old at that. I shall take him for my own protection. I confess that I value my life very highly. It is a part of that simplicity which you despise. That devil of a Jew is armed, you say?”
“I saw something like a knife in his hand, as we shut him in,” said the Wanderer with the same indifference as before.
“Then I will take the Individual,” Keyork answered promptly. “A man’s bare hands must be strong and clever to take a man’s life in a scuffle, and few men can use a pistol to any purpose. But a knife is a weapon of precision. I will take the Individual, decidedly.”
He made a few rapid signs, and the Individual disappeared, coming back a moment later attired in a long coat not unlike his master’s except that the fur of the great collar was of common fox instead of being of sable. Keyork drew his peaked cape comfortably down over the tips of his ears.
“The ether!” he exclaimed. “How forgetful I am growing! Your charming conversation had almost made me forget the object of our visit!”
He went back and took the various things he needed. Then the three men went out together.
More than an hour had elapsed since the Wanderer and Unorna had finally turned the key upon Israel Kafka, leaving him to his own reflections. During the first moments he made desperate efforts to get out of the conservatory, throwing himself with all his weight and strength against the doors and thrusting the point of his long knife into the small apertures of the locks. Then, seeing that every attempt was fruitless, he desisted and sat down, in a state of complete exhaustion. A reaction began to set in after the furious excitement of the afternoon, and he felt all at once that it would be impossible for him to make another step or raise his arm to strike. A man less sound originally in bodily constitution would have broken down sooner, and it was a proof of Israel Kafka’s extraordinary vigour and energy that he did not lose his senses in a delirious fever at the moment when he felt that his strength could bear no further strain.