"Besides, I am not one of you," said the woman. "In name, no; in reality, yes; since your husband must have let you into many secrets," returned the first speaker. "Your woman's wit has outplayed our spies until recently, but, once discovered, you have been constantly watched. We cannot prove that the failure of some of our plans, costing the lives of good comrades, has been due to your interference, but we suspect it. We found you in constant communication with this English Jew, Jacob Morrison, who is in the pay of the Continental police. He is dead, a warning to others, killed in your house, and busy eyes are now looking for you as his murderess. You have hidden your identity so entirely that all inquiry must speedily be baffled, and so you have played into our hands. Your disappearance will hardly reach to a nine days' wonder, and who will think to look for your body under the flags of this cellar? Death is the sentence of the Society, and forthwith." I waited to hear a cry of terror, but it did not come. Nor was there a movement to suggest that the men had risen at once to the work, or, in spite of the restraining hand the professor laid on my arm, I should have been beating at the door to break it down. "I offer you one chance of life," the man's voice droned on after a pause. "Confess everything. Give me the names of all those to whom you have given information concerning us, and you shall have your miserable life." "You have killed the only man who knew anything from me," she answered. "It's a lie," came the hissing reply. "Your cursed husband told you so much about us, he may have explained some of the means we employ to make unwilling tongues speak. I'll have the truth out of you." One of the men must have sat close to her, for her sudden cry of fear was instantly smothered, and there was the sound of struggle and rough usage. "Now--quickly," whispered Quarles; and the man who had followed us to the cellars had struck with a stout piece of iron between the door and its framework. The wood splintered immediately, and, almost before I was prepared, we were facing our enemies, and Quarles was shouting for the other men in the house to come to us. "Hands up!" I cried. They were unprepared, that was our salvation. Not one of the three had any intention of surrender, that was evident in a moment, but they had to get their hands on their weapons, and, fortunately, only one of them had a revolver. The other two rushed upon us with knives. I think Quarles was the first to fire, and he was not a thought too soon. He said afterward that he meant to maim and not to kill, but his bullet passed through the man's brain, and he dropped like a stone. He was the one with the revolver, and, regardless of his own safety, he meant to silence the woman for ever.