There were four French windows opening to the ground, shaded by outside striped blinds similar to those used in England, but not low enough to hide a most splendid view of hill and dale and far-away mountains, which seemed to surround the city of Valoro, itself seeming to rest on a plateau.
I was standing looking at a case of particularly objectionable yellow snakes when I heard one of the French windows move behind me; turning, I came face to face with the polite lieutenant of the band of robbers who had attacked our train. He had discarded the cowboys' dress and wore the clothes of a gentleman. He at once raised a revolver to the level of my head as I started back, and addressed me in perfectly polite tones.
"Come, come, Mr. Anstruther," he said, "it's no good. I want that packet. If you don't give it to me I shall simply shoot you through the head and take it."
It appeared to me that my journey after all had been in vain; there was the muzzle of the pistol within six inches of my head, and I had to make up my mind about it.
St. Nivel's words came back to me concerning the ill-luck of it, and I could almost hear him saying—
"Let the thing go; it isn't worth risking your life for."
Then I thought of Dolores, and on this thought broke the voice of the robber, cold and hard.
"You must make up your mind, Mr. Anstruther," he said, "while I count ten, otherwise I must fire."
He commenced counting slowly.
"One."