“Take off your shoes,” he growled in Mirabelle’s ear, and she obeyed.
Whatever happened, he must not lose touch of her, or give her an opportunity of escape. Still grasping her arm with one hand and his long Mauser pistol in the other, he went softly up the steps, got into the hall and listened, locating the intruder instantly.
It all happened so quickly that Mirabelle could remember nothing except the desperate lunge she made to knock up the pistol that had covered the spine of Leon Gonsalez. She stood dumbly by, watching this horrible old man fasten the heavy door, and obediently preceded him from room to room. She saw the long cases in the hot room and shrank back. And then began a complete tour of the house. There were still shutters to be fastened, peepholes to be opened up. He screwed up the shutters of the servants’ room, and then, with a hammer, broke the thumb-piece short.
“You will stay here,” he said. “I do not know what they will do. Perhaps they will shoot. I also am a shooter!”
Not satisfied with the lock that fastened her door, he went into his workshop, found a staple, hook and padlock, and spent the greater part of an hour fixing this additional security. At last he had finished, and could put the situation in front of four very interested men.
He unlocked the door of the concrete annexe and called the crestfallen gunmen forth, and in a very few words explained the situation and their danger.
“For every one of you the English police hold warrants,” he said. “I do not bluff, I know. This afternoon I was visited by the police. I tell you I do not bluff you—me they cannot touch, because they know nothing, can prove nothing. At most I shall go to prison for a few years, but with you it is different.”
“Are they waiting outside?” asked one suspiciously. “Because, if they are, we’d better move quick.”
“You do not move, quick or slow,” said Oberzohn. “To go out from here means certain imprisonment for you all. To stay, if you follow my plan, means that every one of you may go free and with money.”
“What’s the idea?” asked Cuccini. “Are you going to fight them?”
“Sure I am going to fight them,” nodded Oberzohn. “That is my scheme. I have the young miss upstairs; they will not wish to do her any harm. I intend to defend this house.”
“Do you mean you’re going to hold it?” asked one of the staggered men.
“I will hold it until they are tired, and make terms.”
Cuccini was biting his nails nervously.
“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, boss,” he growled. “I’ve got an idea you’ve roped us into this.”
“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 goldmine 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 halfway 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.
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.”
Gonsalez had made a very careful reconnaissance of the ground, and from the first had recognized the difficulties which lay ahead of the attacking party. The wall rose sheer without any break; such windows as were within reach were
