"That's fine!" he whispered. "Good as a crowbar.'" He shook his
head in sudden indecision. "But I don't just know how to use it.
His automatic could shoot six times before I could swing that thing
on him once. And if I have it in my hands when he opens the door,
he'll shoot, and he may hit you. But if I leave it where it is, he
won't know I know it's there, and it may come in very handy later."

In complete disapproval the girl shook her head. Her eyes filled
with concern. "You must not fight him," she ordered. I mean, not
for me. You don't know the danger. The man's not sane. He won't
give you a chance. He's mad. You have no right to risk your life
for a stranger. I'll not permit it----"

Ford held up his hand for silence. With a jerk of his head he
signified the door. "They've stopped talking," he whispered.

Straining to hear, the two leaned forward, but from the hall there
came no sound. The girl raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Have they gone?" she breathed.

"If I knew that," protested Ford, "we wouldn't be here!"

In answer to his doubt a smart rap, as though from the butt of a
revolver, fell upon the door. The voice of Prothero spoke sharply:

"You, who call yourself Grant!" he shouted.

Before answering, Ford drew Miss Dale and himself away from the