"What of that? It was done in fair fight, I suppose? He did not attack them."
Monsieur José retired and consulted with his men. Presently he reappeared, smiling.
"Monsieur Arbuthnot," he said, "we are anxious to oblige a friend whom we value so much as you, but, at the same time, we feel the loss of two such well-beloved comrades as Pintro and Salino deeply; so deeply, in fact, that we cannot see our way to fix the ransom at less than two thousand pounds English."
"They shall have it," groaned Rupert Devereux, lifting his head.
"Good! Where is the money to be got?" inquired José, with twinkling eyes.
"There is as much in Rothschild's bank at Rome. Send one of your men to Palermo with a telegram, and let him wait till the money is wired to my credit. If you will give me something to write with, I will give him authority to draw it."
It was done, and then, whilst José withdrew to consult with his followers as to who should be the messenger, my Uncle Rupert turned slowly round and looked into my father's face.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
AN OMINOUS NOTE
It was a strange meeting. Full of a great throbbing hope, I glanced from one to another of their faces. My father's was white and set and stern. My Uncle Rupert's was ghastly pale, sad, and expressionless.