“My dear Dompierre, why beat the air with futile questions?” replied Max Carrados. “What does it matter? Have it in the cellar if you like.”
“True,” interposed Montmorency. “The only thing that need concern us now——”
“But it is in the hall—nine feet high,” muttered Dompierre in bitterness. “Yet he, this blind man——”
“The only thing that need concern us,” repeated the Englishman, severely ignoring the interruption, “is what you intend doing in the end, Mr Carrados?”
“The end is a little difficult to foresee,” was the admission. “So far, I am all for maintaining the status quo. Will the first grey light of morning find us still in this impasse? No, for between us we have condemned the room to eternal darkness. Probably about daybreak Dompierre will drop off to sleep and roll against the door. I, unfortunately mistaking his intention, will send a bullet through——Pardon, Madame, I should have remembered—but pray don’t move.”
“I protest, Monsieur——”
“Don’t protest; just sit still. Very likely it will be Mr Montmorency who will fall off to sleep the first after all.”
“Then we will anticipate that difficulty,” said the one in question, speaking with renewed decision. “We will play the last hand with our cards upon the table if you like. Nina, Mr Carrados will not injure you whatever happens—be sure of that. When the moment comes you will rise——”
“One word,” put in Carrados with determination. “My position is precarious and I take no risks. As you say, I cannot injure Madame Dompierre, and you two men are therefore my hostages for her good behaviour. If she rises from the couch you, Dompierre, fall. If she advances another step Mr Montmorency follows you.”
“Do nothing rash, carissima,” urged her husband, with passionate solicitude. “You might get hit in place of me. We will yet find a better way.”