“Here I am, you fools!” he called out loudly and defiantly; and the searchers came to an immediate halt, holding up their lanterns and peering through the darkness. “I have my revolver covering you,” he shouted, “so don’t come close, unless you want to be killed. Do any of you know where my wife is?”
“I’m here, Jim,” came her quiet voice in the darkness. “Let me come to you.”
“It’s no good,” said the Consul. “You’d better surrender at once. You can’t escape. Will you let me come and speak to you?”
“No,” Jim answered. “I’ll shoot anybody who tries to get in here, except my wife. Let me have a talk to her privately, and then you can come and take me and I won’t resist.” He might have added that by then he would be beyond resistance.
The night air was chilly, and the Consul did not relish the thought of waiting about while the criminal exchanged confidences with his wife. He therefore sharply ordered him to submit, and took two or three paces forward to emphasize his words. He came to a sudden standstill, however, when Jim’s voice from the sanctuary told him in unmistakable tones that one further step would mean instant death.
“Oh, very well,” he replied, with irritation. “I’ll give you a quarter of an hour.” He pulled his pipe and pouch from his pocket, and prepared to smoke. He prided himself on his heartlessness. He had once been a Custom House official.
“You’ll give me as long as I choose to take,” said Jim, again flaring up, “unless you prefer bloodshed. Come, Monimé, I have a lot to say to you.”
She turned to her companions. “Have I your word of honour that you will leave him unmolested while we talk?”
“All right,” the Consul replied, setting his lantern down on the ground, and casually lighting his pipe. His shadow was thrown across the forecourt and up the side wall like some monstrous and menacing apparition.
Thereat Monimé ran forward into the sanctuary, and a moment later her arms were about her husband, and her lips were whispering words of encouragement and love.