“You may rope yourself out of it!” snapped Oberzohn. “There is the door—go if you wish. There are police there; make terms with them. A few days ago you were in trouble, my friend. Who saved you? The doctor Oberzohn. There is life imprisonment for every one of you, and I can hold this house myself. Stay with me, and I will give you a fortune greater than any you have dreamt about. And, more than this, at the end you shall be free.” “Where’s Gurther?” “He has been killed—by accident.” Oberzohn’s face was working furiously. “By accident he died,” he said, and told the truth unconvincingly. “There is nothing now to do but to make a decision.” Cuccini and his friends consulted in a whisper. “What do we get for our share?” he asked, and Oberzohn mentioned a sum which staggered them. “I speak the truth,” he said. “In two days I shall have a gold-mine worth millions.” The habit of frankness was on him, and he told them the story of the golden hill without reservations. His agents at Lisbon had already obtained from the Ministry an option upon the land and its mineral rights. As the clock struck twelve on June 14, the goldfield of Biskara automatically passed into his possession. “On one side you have certain imprisonment, on the other you have great monies and happiness.” “How long will we have to stay here?” asked Cuccini. “I have food for a month, even milk. They will not cut the water because of the girl. For the same reason they will not blow in the door.” Again they had a hasty consultation and made their decision. “All right, boss, we’ll stay. But we want that share-out put into writing.” “To my study,” said Oberzohn promptly, “march!” He was half-way through writing the document when there came a thunderous knock on the door and he got up, signalling for silence. Tiptoeing along the passage, he came to the door. “Yes—who is that?” he asked. “Open, in the name of the law!” said a voice, and he recognized Meadows. “I have a warrant for your arrest, and if necessary the door will be broken in.” “So!” said Oberzohn, dropped the muzzle of his pistol until it rested on the edge of the little letter-slit and fired twice. _Chapter XXXIII_ _The Siege_ BUT Meadows had already been warned to keep clear of the letter-box, and the bullets eventually reached one of the railway viaducts, to the embarrassment of a road ganger who happened to be almost in the line of fire. Meadows slipped down the steps to cover. Inside the wire fence a dozen policemen were waiting. “Sergeant, go back to the station in the police car and bring arms,” he said. “This is going to be a long job.”