Part 11

“Have they gone?” she breathed.

“If I knew that,” protested Ford, “we wouldn't be here!”

In answer to his doubt a smart rap, as though from the butt of a revolver, fell upon the door. The voice of Prothero spoke sharply:

“You, who call yourself Grant!” he shouted.

Before answering, Ford drew Miss Dale and himself away from the line of the door, and so placed the girl with her back to the wall that if the door opened she would be behind it. “Yes,” he answered.

“Pearsall and I,” called Prothero, “have decided how to dispose of you--of both of you. He has gone below to make preparations. I am on guard. If you try to break out or call for help, I'll shoot you as I warned you!”

“And I warn you,” shouted Ford, “if this lady and I do not instantly leave this house, or if any harm comes to her, you will hang for it!” Prothero laughed jeeringly.

“Who will hang me?” he mocked.

“My friends,” retorted Ford. “They know I am in this house. They know WHY I am here. Unless they see Miss Dale and myself walk out of it in safety, they will never let you leave it. Don't be a fool, Prothero!” he shouted. “You know I am telling the truth. You know your only chance for mercy is to open that door and let us go free.”

For over a minute Ford waited, but from the hall there was no answer.

After another minute of silence, Ford turned and gazed inquiringly at Miss Dale.

“Prothero!” he called.

Again for a full minute he waited and again called, and then, as there still was no reply, he struck the door sharply with his knuckles. On the instant the voice of the Jew rang forth in an angry bellow.

“Keep away from that door!” he commanded.

Ford turned to Miss Dale and bent his head close to hers.

“Now, why the devil didn't he answer?” he whispered. “Was it because he wasn't there; or is he planning to steal away and wants us to think that even if he does not answer, he's still outside?” The girl nodded eagerly.

“This is it,” she whispered. “My uncle is a coward or rather he is very wise, and has left the house. And Prothero means to follow, but he wants us to think he's still on guard. If we only KNEW!” she exclaimed.

As though in answer to her thought, the voice of Prothero called to them.

“Don't speak to me again,” he warned. “If you do, I'll not answer, or I'll shoot!”

Flattened against the wall, close to the hinges of the door, Ford replied flippantly and defiantly:

“That makes conversation difficult, doesn't it?” he called.

There was a bursting report, and a bullet splintered the panel of the door, flattened itself against the fireplace, and fell tinkling into the grate.

“I hope I hit you!” roared the Jew.

Ford pressed his lips tightly together. Whatever happy retort may have risen to them was forever lost. For an exchange of repartee, the moment did not seem propitious.

“Perhaps now,” jeered Prothero, “you'll believe I'm in earnest!”

Ford still resisted any temptation to reply. He grinned apologetically at the girl and shrugged his shoulders. Her face was white, but it was white from excitement, not from fear.

“What did I tell you?” she whispered. “He IS mad--quite mad!”

Ford glanced at the bullet-hole in the panel of the door. It was on a line with his heart. He looked at Miss Dale; her shoulder was on a level with his own, and her eyes were following his.