"He is large, certainly," remarked Armitage. "Give him a chair. Now," he
said to the man in deliberate German, "I shall say a few things to you
which I am very anxious for you to understand. You are a Servian."
The man nodded.
"Your name is Zmai Miletich."
The man shifted his great bulk uneasily in his chair and fastened his
lusterless little eyes upon Armitage.
"Your name," repeated Armitage, "is Zmai Miletich; your home is, or was,
in the village of Toplica, where you were a blacksmith until you became a
thief. You are employed as an assassin by two gentlemen known as
Chauvenet and Durand--do you follow me?"
The man was indeed following him with deep engrossment. His narrow
forehead was drawn into minute wrinkles; his small eyes seemed to recede
into his head; his great body turned uneasily.
"I ask you again," repeated Armitage, "whether you follow me. There must
be no mistake."
Oscar, anxious to take his own part in the conversation, prodded Zmai in
the ribs with a pistol barrel, and the big fellow growled and nodded his
head.
"There is a house in the outskirts of Vienna where you have been employed
at times as gardener, and another house in Geneva where you wait for
orders.
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