"Don't move!" said the Jew.

At the sound of his voice the girl gave a cry of warning, and
sprang forward.

"Go back!" commanded Prothero. His voice was low and soft, and
apparently calm, but his face showed white with rage.

Ford had recovered from the shock of the surprise. He, also, was in
a rage--a rage of mortification and bitter disappointment.

"Don't point that gun at me!" he blustered.

The sound of leaping footsteps and the voice of Pearsall echoed
from the floor below.

"Have you got him?" he called.

Prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his pistol. When Pearsall
was at his side, without turning his head, he asked in the same
steady tone:

"What shall we do with him?"

The face of Pearsall was white, and furious with fear.

"I told you----" he stormed.

"Never mind what you told me," said the Jew. "What shall we do with