"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 nobody stirred or spoke. Then Quintana strode to the bolted door and struck it with the butt 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. "Senorita," said Quintana with another sweep of his hat, "I ask pardon that I trouble you for my packet of which your father has rob me for ver' long time." Slowly the girl lifted her blue eyes to Stormont. He was standing between two masked men. Their pistols were pressed slightly against his stomach. Stormont reddened painfully: "It was not for myself that I let you open your door," he said. "They would not have ventured to lay hands on _me_." "Ah," said Quintana with a terrifying smile, "you would not have been the first gendarme who had--_accorded me his hand_!" Two of the masked men laughed loudly. * * * * * Outside in the rag-weed patch, Smith rose, stole across the grass to the kitchen door and slipped inside. "Now, senorita," said Quintana gaily, "my packet, if you please,--and we leave you to the caresses of your faithful gendarme,--who should thank God that he still possesses two good hands to fondle you! Alons! Come then! My packet!" One of the masked men said: "Take her downstairs and lock her up somewhere or she'll shoot us from her window." "Lead out that gendarme, too!" added Quintana, grasping Eve by the arm. Down the stairs tramped the men, forcing their prisoners with them. In the big kitchen the glare from the burning out-house fell dimly; the place was full of shadows. "Now," said Quintana, "I take my property and my leave. Where is the packet hidden?"