Ford made no answer. Motioning to Miss Dale to remain where she was, he ran noiselessly to the bed, and from beneath the mattress lifted one of the iron bars upon which it rested. Grasping it at one end, he swung the bar swiftly as a man tests the weight of a baseball bat. As a weapon it seemed to satisfy him, for he smiled. Then once more he placed himself with his back to the wall. “Do you hear me?” roared Prothero. “I hear you!” returned Ford. “If you want to talk to me, open the door and come inside.” “Listen to me,” called Prothero. “If I open the door you may act the fool, and I will have to shoot you, and I have made up my mind to let you live. You will soon have this house to yourselves. In a few moments I will leave it, but where I am going I'll need money, and I want the bank-notes in that blue envelope.” Ford swung the iron club in short half-circles. “Come in and get them!” he called. “Don't trifle with me!” roared the Jew, “I may change my mind. Shove the money through the crack under the door.” “And get shot!” returned Ford. “Not bit like it!” “If, in one minute,” shouted Prothero, “I don't see the money coming through that crack, I'll begin shooting through this door, and neither of you will live!” Resting the bar in the crook of his elbow, Ford snatched the bank-notes from the envelope, and, sticking them in his pocket, placed the empty envelope on the floor. Still keeping out of range, and using his iron bar as a croupier uses his rake, he pushed the envelope across the carpet and under the door. When half of it had disappeared from the other side of the door, it was snatched from view. An instant later there was a scream of anger and on a line where Ford would have been, had he knelt to shove the envelope under the door, three bullets splintered through the panel.