At last there was a change in the noise. A silence followed; and then he heard footsteps moving toward the hall. He listened. The footsteps ascended the stairs!
They ascended the stairs, and came nearer and nearer. There did not seem to be so many as a dozen. Perhaps some remained below. Such were his thoughts.
They came toward his room.
At length he heard the knob of the door turning gently. Of course, as the door was locked, and as the bed was in front of it, this produced no effect. On Obed the only effect was that he sat upright and drew his revolver from his pocket, still smoking.
Then followed some conversation outside.
Then there came a knock.
"Who's there?" said Obed, mildly.
"Aperite!" was the answer, in a harsh voice.
"What?"
"Aperite. Siamo poveri. Date vostro argento."