which no doubt was the way out.

"Help, Yankee! there's some villany on here; the small door to the
right!" he shouted, with great presence of mind, and at the same moment
the door was slammed behind him. A handkerchief was tied over his mouth;
he was tripped up and brought heavily to the ground, where his feet and
hands were tied, and he was then shot into a dark side-room, which
seemed to be at the back of a press, that was unlatched to pass him
through.

"H'm!" said the Yankee coolly, to himself. "I am not going to lose his
pay, if I know it," and he set out accordingly in search of the police,
with whom he had no outstanding account.

Salvé was certain he had heard the señorita's voice whispering in the
outer room; and not long after he heard the latch in the press raised,
and she stood before him with a light. She looked at him mischievously,
and spilt some oil out of the lamp on to his face with a little scornful
laugh. But her expression changed then to that of a tigress burning for
revenge that is compelled to put off the gratification of her fury, and
she darted out again, clapping down the latch behind her.

Salvé lay tightly bound with his hands behind his back. But his cat-like
suppleness enabled him eventually to wriggle his sheath-knife out of his
breast pocket, and he found no great difficulty then in freeing himself
from his bonds.

He stood now with his knife in his hand and listened.

Before long he heard the American's voice, with the police, and they