“Come,” he said, turning to Gates, Morton, and the German; “follow me.”
“Thank you,” said Gates coolly. “I suppose you are about to show us our rooms.”
Morton, stupefied at his loss, said nothing. Everything had gone against him. The proceeds of his defalcation had melted into thin air. He complied silently.
But the Teuton was the most obstreperous.
“Where is it you will take me?” he cried. “I will not go.”
“Won’t you?” asked Alonzo grimly, drawing a formidable-looking knife from his girdle.
“Oh, Gott in Himmel! He will cut mein throat!” ejaculated the horror-stricken Dutchman, his knees trembling beneath him.
“Not if you obey orders,” said Alonzo, inclined to laugh.
Herr Schmidt no longer resisted, but shambled in with what haste he could. Alonzo threw open the outer door of the building, disclosing a dark interior. But he lighted a lantern, and then advancing to one side of the apartment, touched some secret spring, and instantly a door flew open, revealing a flight of steps leading downward into a subterranean vault.
Morton recoiled in alarm.