“Give me the ring!” he repeated, a tone of menace creeping into his high-pitched voice.
I arose and walked toward the window, getting the table between us. Then I turned and faced him.
“They have taken the ring from me,” I said.
He stood as if turned to stone, his fierce eyes fixed upon my own.
“They have opened the vault with it,” I continued, “and found it bare and empty.”
He gave a shrill scream at this, and began trembling in every limb.
“You lie!” he shouted, wildly. “You try to cheat me—to get all! And the vault has millions—millions in gold and notes. Give me the ring!”
I made no reply. To reiterate my assertion would do no good, and the man was incompetent to consider the matter calmly. Indeed, he once more drew that ugly fork from his breast and, grasping it as one would a dagger, began creeping toward me with a stealthy, cat-like tread.
I approached the edge of the round center-table, alert to keep its breadth between me and my companion. The Mexican paused opposite me, and whispered between his clinched teeth:
“Give it me! Give me the ring!”