“Spedding, Spedding, my man, you’re frightening that child; put your gun down and let us talk. Do you hear me? I am keeping myself in hand, Spedding, but if you harm that girl I’ll be a devil to you. D’ye hear? If you hurt her, I’ll take you with my bare hands and treat you Indian fashion, Spedding, my man, tie you down and stake you out, then burn you slowly. Yes, and, by the Lord, if any man interferes, even if it’s Angel here, I’ll swing for him. D’ye hear that?” His breast heaved with the effort to hold himself, and Spedding, shuddering at the ferocity in the man’s whole bearing, lowered his pistol. “Let us talk,” he said huskily. “That’s better,” said Angel, “and let me talk first. I want you.” “Come and take me,” he said. “The risk is too great,” said Angel frankly, “and besides, I can afford to wait.” “Well?” asked the lawyer defiantly, after a long pause. He kept the weapon in his hand pointed in the vicinity of the girl. Angel exchanged a word in an undertone with his companion, then-- “You may go,” he said, and stepped aside. Spedding motioned him farther away. Then slowly edging his way to the door, he reached it. He paused for a moment as if about to speak, then quick as thought raised his revolver and fired twice. Angel felt the wind of the bullets as they passed his face, and sprang forward just as Jimmy’s arm shot out. Crack, crack, crack! Three shots so rapid that their reports were almost simultaneous from Jimmy’s automatic pistol sped after the lawyer, but too late, and the heavy door crashed to in Angel’s face, and the snap of the lock told them they were prisoners. Angel made a dart for a window, but it was shuttered and nailed and immovable. He looked at Jimmy, and burst into a ringing laugh. “Trapped, by Jove!” he said. Jimmy was on his knees by the side of the girl. She had not fainted, but had suddenly realized her terrible danger, and the strain and weariness of the night adventure had brought her trembling to her knees. Very tenderly did Jimmy’s arm support her. She felt the strength of the man, and, thrilled at his touch, her head sank on his shoulder and she felt at rest. Angel was busily examining the windows, when a loud report outside the house arrested his attention. “What is that?” asked the girl faintly. “It is either Mr. Spedding’s well-timed suicide, which I fear is too much to expect,” said Angel philosophically, “or else it is the same Mr. Spedding destroying the working parts of our car. I am afraid it is the latter.” He moved up and down the room, examined the smaller chamber at the other end, then sniffed uneasily. “Miss Kent,” he said earnestly, “are you well enough to tell me something?” She started and flushed as she drew herself from Jimmy’s arms, and stood up a little shakily. “Yes,” she said, with a faint smile, “I think I am all right now.” “What is there under here?” asked Angel, pointing to the floor. “An old workshop, a sort of storehouse,” she replied in surprise.