In this hope I waited for what seemed a long time. But either they had not heard the shot or were afraid to venture down.
When they did not come, there was nothing for it but for me to go up again to them. Now that the one desperate man, Gassen, was dead, I feared them no longer. The one man's persistent urging of caution and the other's fear of Gassen led me to believe that they were of the order of men who can plan trouble for others to do but don't care to take a hand in carrying it out.
As they would probably conclude that any noise I made was caused by Gassen returning there was no need for any particular caution; so I ran up the stairs and crossed to the room with a firm tread.
"Was that a shot just now, Gassen?" asked the elder man. "You weren't fool enough to fire at this time of night outside?"
He had barely finished the question when I entered the room, bringing them both to their feet with a cry of surprise.
"Who's Gassen?" I asked. "And where's the Baron von Ringheim?"
"It's the Englishman!" This was from the man of few words; and he clapped his hand to his pocket, so I covered him.
"You can take it out and lay it on the table there," I said sternly.
He fumbled at his pocket in hesitation; but a slight movement of my weapon decided him, and he laid a revolver on the table, which I pocketed.
"Put your hands up, you," I said to the other. He was a man of some fifty years of age and stood staring aghast at me. But he put his hands up and I ran through his pockets to make sure he was not also armed. He was not.