“Sure I am going to fight them,” nodded Oberzohn. “That is my scheme. I have the young miss upstairs; they will not wish to do her any harm. I intend to defend this house.”
“Do you mean you’re going to hold it?” asked one of the staggered men.
“I will hold it until they are tired, and make terms.”
Cuccini was biting his nails nervously.
“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, boss,” he growled. “I’ve got an idea you’ve roped us into this.”
“You may rope yourself out of it!” snapped Oberzohn. “There is the door—go if you wish. There are police there; make terms with them. A few days ago you were in trouble, my friend. Who saved you? The doctor Oberzohn. There is life imprisonment for every one of you, and I can hold this house myself. Stay with me, and I will give you a fortune greater than any you have dreamt about. And, more than this, at the end you shall be free.”
“Where’s Gurther?”
“He has been killed—by accident.” Oberzohn’s face was working furiously. “By accident he died,” he said, and told the truth unconvincingly. “There is nothing now to do but to make a decision.”
Cuccini and his friends consulted in a whisper.
“What do we get for our share?” he asked, and Oberzohn mentioned a sum which staggered them.