Most of the lights in Lorch had gone out, and the town lay in
the silence of pallid moonbeams like a city of the dead. Roland stood on
deck with Greusel and Ebearhard by his side, the latter relating the
difficulties of the evening. There had been singing in the cabin during
the passage across, then came a lull in the roar from below, followed by
a shout that betokened danger. An instant later the crowd came boiling
up the short stair to the deck, Kurzbold in command, all swords drawn,
and glistening in the moonlight.
"You scoundrel!" he cried to Roland, "those lockers are full of empty
bags."
"I know that," replied Roland, quietly. "The money is in safe keeping,
and will be honestly divided at the conclusion of this expedition."
"You thief! You robber!" shouted Kurzbold, flourishing his weapon.
"Quite accurate," replied Roland, unperturbed. "I was once called a
Prince of Thieves when I did not deserve the title. Now I have earned
it."
"You have earned the penalty of thieving, and we propose to throw you
into the Rhine.
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