"Will you tell me if you are there, Mr. Starling?" Arnold again demanded. "I have a message for you."
Starling, if indeed he were there, seemed now to be even holding his breath. Arnold took one step back and charged the door. It went crashing in, and almost at once there was a loud report. The closet—it was little more—was filled with smoke, and Arnold heard distinctly the hiss of a bullet buried in the woodwork over his shoulder. He caught the revolver from the shaking fingers of the man who was crouching upon the ground, and slipped it into his pocket. With his other hand, he held his prisoner powerless.
"What the devil do you mean by that?" he cried, fiercely.
Starling—for it was Starling—seemed to have no words. Arnold dragged him out into the light and for a moment found it hard to recognize the man. He had lost over a stone in weight. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes had the hunted look in them of some wild animal.
"What do you want with me?" he muttered. "Can't you see I am hiding here? What business is it of yours to interfere?"
Arnold looked at him from head to foot. The man was shaking all over; the coward's fear was upon him.
"What on earth are you in this state for?" he exclaimed. "Whom are you hiding from? You have been set free. Is it the Rosario business still? You have been set free once."
Starling moistened his lips rapidly.
"They set me free," he muttered, "because one of their witnesses failed. They had no case; they wouldn't bring me up. But I am still under surveillance. The sergeant as good as told me that they'd have me before long."
"Well, at present, I've got you," Arnold said coolly. "Have you any luggage?"