ve a cry of warning, and sprang
forward.

"Go back!" commanded Prothero. His voice was low and soft, and
apparently calm, but his face showed white with rage.

Ford had recovered from the shock of the surprise. He, also, was in a
rage--a rage of mortification and bitter disappointment.

"Don't point that gun at me!" he blustered.

The sound of leaping footsteps and the voice of Pearsall echoed from the
floor below.

"Have you got him?" he called.

Prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his pistol. When Pearsall was
at his side, without turning his head, he asked in the same steady tone:

"What shall we do with him?"

The face of Pearsall was white, and furious with fear.

"I told you----" he stormed.

"Never mind what you told me," said the Jew. "What shall we do with him?
He knows!"

Ford's mind was working swiftly. He had no real fear of personal danger
for the girl or himself. The Jew, he argued, was no fool. He would not
risk his neck by open murder. And, as he saw it, escape with the girl
might still be possible. He had only to conceal from Prothero his
knowledge of the line of retreat over the house-tops, explain his
rain-soaked condition, and wait a better chance.

To this end he proceeded to lie briskly and smoothly.

"Of course I know," he taunted. He pointed to his dripping garments.
"Do you know where I've been? In the street, placing my men. I have this
house surrounded. I am going to walk down those stairs with this young
lady. If you try to stop me I have only to blow my police-whistle----"

"And I will blow your brains out!" interrupted the Jew. It was a most
unsatisfactory climax.

"You have not been in the street," said Prothero. "You are wet because
you hung out of your window signalling to your friend. Do you know why
he did not answer your second signal? Because he is lying in an area,
with a knife in him!"

"You lie!" cried Ford.

"YOU lie," retorted the Jew quietly, "when you say your men surround
this house. You are alone. You are NOT in the police service, you are
a busybody meddling with men who think as little of killing you as they
did of killing your friend. My servant was placed to watch your window,
saw your signal, reported to me. And I found your assistant and threw
him into an area, with a knife in him!"

Ford felt the story was untrue. Prothero was trying to frighten him.
Out of pure bravado no sane man would boast of murder. But--and at the
thought Ford felt a