“An English jury,” said Ford briskly, “is the last thing you want to meet---- It isn't a Chicago jury.” The Jew flung back his head as though Ford had struck him in the face. “Ah!” he purred, “you know that, too, do you?” The purr increased to a snarl. “You know too much!” For Pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarming meaning. He sprang toward Prothero, and laid both hands upon his disengaged arm. “For God's sake,” he pleaded, “come away! He can't hurt you--not alive; but dead, he'll hang you--hang us both. We must go, now, this moment.” He dragged impotently at the left arm of the giant. “Come!” he begged. Whether moved by Pearsall's words or by some thought of his own, Prothero nodded in assent. He addressed himself to Ford. “I don't know what to do with you,” he said, “so I will consult with my friend outside this door. While we talk, we will lock you in. We can hear any move you make. If you raise the window or call I will open the door and kill you--you and that woman!” With a quick gesture, he swung to the door, and the spring lock snapped. An instant later the bolts were noisily driven home. When the second bolt shot into place, Ford turned and looked at Miss Dale. “This is a hell of a note!” he said III Outside the locked door the voices of the two men rose in fierce whispers. But Ford regarded them not at all. With the swiftness of a squirrel caught in a cage, he darted on tiptoe from side to side searching the confines of his prison. He halted close to Miss Dale and pointed at the windows. “Have you ever tried to loosen those bars?” he whispered. The girl nodded and, in pantomime that spoke of failure, shrugged her shoulders. “What did you see?” demanded Ford hopefully. The girl destroyed his hope with a shake of her head and a swift smile. “Scissors,” she said; “but they found them and took them away.” Ford pointed at the open grate. “Where's the poker?” he demanded. “They took that, too. I bent it trying to pry the bars. So they knew.” The man gave her a quick, pleased glance, then turned his eyes to the door that led into the room that looked upon the street. “Is that door locked?” “No,” the girl told him. “But the door from it into the hall is fastened, like the other, with a spring lock and two bolts.” Ford cautiously opened the door into the room adjoining, and, except for a bed and wash-stand, found it empty. On tiptoe he ran to the windows. Sowell Street was deserted. He returned to Miss Dale, again closing the door between the two rooms. “The nurse,” Miss Dale whispered, “when she is on duty, leaves that door open so that she can watch me; when she goes downstairs, she locks and bolts the door from that room to the hall. It's locked now.” “What's the nurse like?” The girl gave a shudder that seemed to Ford sufficiently descriptive. Her lips tightened in a hard, straight line.