Part 34 (2/2)
”So?” said Quintana. ”Well, that is what I expec', my frien'. It is thees lady upon whom I do myse'f the honour to call!”
Eve, listening, heard Stormont's rejoinder, still, calm, and very grave:
”The man who lays a finger on that young girl had better be dead. He's as good as dead the moment he touches her. There won't be a chance for him.... Nor for any of you, if you harm her.”
”Calm youse'f, my frien',” said Quintana. ”I demand of thees young lady only that she return to me the property of which I have been rob by Monsieur Clinch.”
”I knew nothing of any theft. Nor does she----”
”Pardon; Senor Clinch knows; and I know.” His tone changed, offensively: ”Senor Gendarme, am I permit to understan' that you are a frien' of thees young lady?--a heart-frien', per'aps----”
”I am her friend,” said Stormont bluntly.
”Ah,” said Quintana, ”then you shall persuade her to return to me thees packet of which Monsieur Clinch has rob me.”
There was a short silence, then Quintana's voice again:
”I know thees packet is concel in thees house. Peaceably, if possible, I would recover my property.... If she refuse----”
Another pause.
”Well?” inquired Stormont, coolly.
”Ah! It is ver' painful to say. Alas, Senor Gendarme, I mus' have my property.... If she refuse, then I mus' sever one of her pretty fingers.... An' if she still refuse--I sever her pretty fingers, one by one, until----”
”You know what would happen to _you_?” interrupted Stormont, in a voice that quivered in spite of himself.
”I take my chance. Senor Gendarme, she is within that room. If you are her frien', you shall advise her to return to me my property.”
After another silence:
”Eve!” he called sharply.
She placed her lips to the door: ”Yes, Jack.”
He said: ”There are five masked men out here who say that Clinch robbed them and they are here to recover their property.... Do you know anything about this?”
”I know they lie. My father is not a thief.... I have my rifle and plenty of ammunition. I shall kill every man who enters this room.”
For a moment n.o.body stirred or spoke. Then Quintana strode to the bolted door and struck it with the b.u.t.t of his rifle.
”You, in there,” he said in a menacing voice, ”--you listen once to _me_! You open your door and come out. I give you one minute!” He struck the door again: ”_One_ minute, senorita!--or I cut from your frien', here, the hand from his right arm!”
There was a deathly silence. Then the sound of bolts. The door opened.
Slowly the girl limped forward, still wearing the hunting jacket over her night-dress.
Quintana made her an elaborate and ironical bow, slouch hat in hand; another masked man took her rifle.
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