"We have him safe," said one of the intruders as he passed Mellen. "Caught at last, my fine fellow."
Ford started back—thrust one hand under his vest, and drew it out again—there was a flash—a stunning report—he staggered back against the wall, shot through the chest.
For a few instants there was wild confusion; the servants rushed in, the wounded criminal was lifted up, but during all that time Elsie lay on the sofa quite unnoticed, not insensible yet, but utterly helpless, so blasted by the shock that mind and body seemed withering under it.
Ford sat on the floor in gloomy silence. In spite of his resistance an effort was made to staunch the blood which was trickling down his shirt bosom, but he said in a low, quiet voice:
"It is useless. I have cheated you at last—the first good act of my life has killed me—I am a dying man. It was my last stake, and I have lost it."
A great change in his face proved the truth of his words; even the officers, inured to scenes of suffering and pain, recoiled before his stony hardihood.
One of them spoke in explanation to Mellen.
"We don't know what he wanted here; we have been on his track for days; he committed a forgery, months ago, and was trying to get off to Europe just as it was found out."
"He's bound on a longer journey, that you cannot stop now," said Ford. "Mellen, I have something to say to you—better send these men away unless you want our little affairs discussed before them."