“We just want to have a word with your young man,” said George, the idiot, in his ordinary voice. “Oh!” she caught her breath. That gave the show away all right. Julian Raphael was at home, whatever home was. Then the match went out. And the lights went on, snap! Julian Raphael stood at the end of the passage, pointing a revolver. George said: “Don’t be an ass!” “Come here!” says Mr. Raphael to the girl. “No, you don’t!” said George, hauling her to him by the arm. Julian Raphael smiled in that way he had. “If you don’t let her go at once,” he says, “I shoot.” “You what!” I said. Tarlyon laughed. You can hear him. He said: “Now don’t be a fool all your life but stand at attention when you speak to my friend here, because he’s a knight. And put that comic gun away else I’ll come and hit you.” I couldn’t help laughing. The young Jew looked so surprised. He’d never before been talked to just in that way and it bothered him, he was used to doing the laughing and being taken seriously. But I had laughed too soon. There was a whizz by my ear, a thud on the door behind me, and a knife an inch deep in the panel. The surprise had given Manana a chance to slip away. She was by Mr. Raphael now at the end of the passage. There wasn’t light enough to make out what was behind them, a stairway up or a stairway down. Down, I guessed, into the bowels of the earth. Julian Raphael was smiling. I’ll say it was well thrown, that knife. Tarlyon was livid. “By God,” he whispered, “threw a knife at us! We _are_ having a nice weekend!” I held him back. What was the use? A little child could have led us at knife-throwing. Julian Raphael said, with that infernal sneer of his: “Gentlemen, I merely wanted to show you what to expect if you were to advance another step. I wouldn’t kill you--not yet. One of you, yes. But it would cause comment, the disappearance of two fools. However, I might slice bits off your ears. Further, this is my house. Are you not intruding? Gentlemen, you may go.” And, you know, we did. What the deuce else was there to do? If Tarlyon with his infernal chuckling hadn’t roused the man out of his lair we might have taken him by surprise and learnt something of the whereabouts of that counterfeiting business. But as it was, “go” was us while the going was good. And the way Tarlyon swore when we were outside made me glad it was a Saturday afternoon and the warehouses were closed, else he might have corrupted the poor workmen. “What do we do now?” he asked at last. “Lump it?” “Well, at any rate, we know his address now.” “Address be blowed! That’s not an address, Charles, but an exit. I’ll bet our smart friend doesn’t press his trousers in that hole--and, by Heaven, there you are!” He made me jump. I hadn’t, didn’t, see anything. I thought it was another knife. “Never mind,” snapped George. “Too late now. Come on, man, come on!”