To convince them of that, strangely enough, was difficult.
When Rupert of Hentzau returned the other officers were with him, and, fortunately for me, they spoke or understood English.

For the rest of the day what followed was like a legal argument.

It was as cold-blooded as a game of bridge.

Rupert of Hentzau wanted an English spy shot for his supper; just as he might have desired a grilled bone.

He showed no personal animus, and, I must say for him, that he conducted the case for the prosecution without heat or anger.
He mocked me, grilled and taunted me, but he was always charmingly polite.
As Whitman said, "I want Becker," so Rupert said, "Fe, fo, fi, fum, I want the blood of an Englishman." He was determined to get it.