They dropped him again and stood looking at one another and shaking with fear.
It flashed on me instantly that the police had come; and in order that I might have a plausible tale to tell and appear to have been threatened by my two companions, I ordered them back into a corner of the room and drew out my revolver again.
"Don't you move so much as a finger," I cried. My intention was, of course, to act as if I had rescued the Baron.
But I blundered. It was not the police. Three men came hurrying up the stairs and into the room, and in one of them I recognized the fellow who had been with Gassen at Ziegler's house on the night of the murder.
He recognized me at the same instant. One of the three, not understanding the position and addressing the elder of the two, exclaimed as he entered:
"We haven't got him, general."
"But we have. There he is," cried his companion.
The pause of surprise was broken by a laugh from one of the newcomers. "What the devil does all this mean?" he asked.
At this point the cowardice of the man they had called the "general," promised to stand me in good stead. Watching me carefully, lest I should carry out my threat to shoot him, he stepped forward a pace and said: "There has been a great mistake. Gassen was wrong, and there has not been any treachery. We were just about to leave here."
But the statement was received with a jeering scoff.