Quintana. Even before he had reached the
door, his pistol flashed twice, deafening all the semi-darkness, choking
them with stifling fumes.

A masked man turned on Stormont, forcing him back into the pantry at
pistol-point. Another man pushed Eve after him, slammed the pantry door
and bolted it.

Through the iron bars of the pantry window, Stormont saw a man, wearing
a red bandanna tied under his eyes, run up and untie his horse and fling
himself astride under a shower of bullets.

As he wheeled the horse and swung him into the clearing toward the foot
of Star Pond, his seat and horsemanship were not to be mistaken.

He was gone, now, the gallop stretching into a dead run; and Quintana's
men still following, shooting, hallooing in the starlight like a pack of
leaping shapes from hell.

But Quintana had not followed far. When he had emptied his automatic he
halted.

Something about the transaction suddenly checked his fury, stilled it,
summoned his brain into action.

For a full minute he stood unstirring, every atom of intelligence in
terrible concentration.

Presently he put his left hand into his pocket, fitted another clip to
his pistol, turned on his heel and walked straight back to the house.

Between the two locked in the pantry not a word had passed. Stormont
still peered out between the iron bars, striving to catch a glimpse of
what was going on. Eve crouched at the pantry doors, her face in her
hands, listening.

Suddenly she heard Quintana's step in the kitchen. Cautiously she
turned the pantry key from inside.

Stormont heard her, and instantly came to her. At the same moment
Quintana unbolted the door from the outside and tried to open it.

"Come out," he said coldly, "or it will not go well with you when my men
return."

"You've got what you say is your property," replied Stormont. "What do
you want now?"

"I tell you what I want ver' damn quick. Who was he, thees man who
rides with my property on your horse away? Eh? Because it was not Nick
Salzar! No! Salzar cannot ride thees way. No! Alors?"

"I can't tell you who he was," replied Stormont. "That's your affair,
not ours."

"No? Ah! Ver' well, then. I shall tell you Senor Flic! He was one of
_yours._ I understan'. It is a trap, a cheat -- what you call a
_plant!_ Thees man who rode your horse he is disguise! Yes! He also
is a gendarme! Yes! You think I let a gendarme rob me? I got you
where I want you now