He paused a moment, put his hand to his head, as if he had forgotten something and turned to retrace his steps. He meant to warn the others in the house, of course; and as I had to prevent this at any cost, I stepped forward quickly and grabbed him by the wrist.
“What do you want with me, you old fool?” he said roughly, trying at the same time to shake off my hold.
“You are my prisoner,” I said sternly. “Who are in that house there?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Which house?”
“The one you have just left. I know you. Answer at once.”
His answer was both clever-witted and quick. He flung the overcoat he carried over my head and made a fierce snatch to break away from me, while reaching at the same time for a weapon.
I held on, however, and managed to trip him up. As we fell together the coat dropped away and I was in time to seize the barrel of a revolver he had succeeded in drawing, and drag it out of his hand.
“It’s no use, Marco,” I said.
He knew me then. “The Englishman!” he cried with an oath of unbounded amazement.
“Yes, the Englishman,” I said.