The fellow drew it out with a swift under glance at me, full of sinister thirst for revenge and gloating satisfaction. Then Barosa looked across at me. “We are all agreed that this is our only course, Mr. Donnington.” I met his look firmly. “You can murder me if you will, but it will not help you. You know that,” I replied. “Will you write what I require?” “No.” “Now,” he said sharply to the others. They looked to see that the revolvers were loaded, glanced at each other and raised them slowly, pointing them at my head and waiting for the word to fire. “I give you one last chance, Mr. Donnington,” said Barosa. CHAPTER XXIX MIRALDA’S APPEAL Whether I was really so near death as it appeared when the two pistols were levelled close to my head and the men were waiting for the word to fire, or whether it was no more than a well-played and realistically-staged bluff to frighten me into writing the instructions to Captain Bolton, I have never been able to decide. I think now, it was only pretence from beginning to end; but I believed it was grim earnest then, and that when I answered Barosa’s question with another refusal, I was signing my own death-warrant. But in the pause before he gave the order to fire there was a sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs, and Inez rushed into the room. With a cry of horror she dashed between me and the levelled weapons. “What does this mean?” she asked Barosa. “You can see for yourself,” was the reply. “You shall not do this in my house. Lower your pistols, you,” she cried to the men. They looked to Barosa, who hesitated a second, and then signed to them to leave the room. At that moment the strain told on me. I turned dizzy and weak, and sat, or rather slid, down on to the foot of the bed, and lolled helplessly against the wall. An angry altercation followed between Inez and Barosa, but I paid no attention to it. I could not; and some minutes passed before I was able to pull my wits together sufficiently to hear what passed. Barosa was about to leave the room. “The responsibility is yours, not mine,” he was saying. “I tell you that while that man is alive, not one of us is safe. You know how the police are hunting for us. They will come here to a certainty, and then----” and he threw up his hands angrily and went out. Inez sat down and leaned her head on her hand in thought, and presently turned and looked at me, with a deep despairing sigh. The interval gave me time to think. It was beginning to dawn upon me that the whole thing was play-acting, and that Inez herself had had her cue to enter for her part in it. “Mr. Donnington?” she began at length. I turned very slowly and looked at her. For the present it was evidently my best course to lead her to think that I had no suspicion of the unreality of the proceedings. “You are ill.” I gave a feeble smile and wagged my head slowly. “Can you listen to me?”