“He sold us to the police—that’s how he knows in advance the police are after us. And he’s trying to play innocence by warning us when it’s too late.” Freeman’s eyes flashed vengeful fury. “Stand aside!”
Sonya held her place. “I tell you he is innocent!” she said with ringing voice. “If you kill him, it will be plain murder!”
Her words had an effect, for he slowly lowered the pistol. “Well, I apologise if I’m—”
But Drexel waited not for apology. “Come on!” he cried; and seizing Sonya’s arm he made for the stairway, and dashed down and out into the court, with Freeman and the housekeeper following. But here they suddenly paused. Entering the gateway, the only exit from the high-walled court, they saw a group of shadowy figures. They were too late.
“Shall we surrender?” asked Sonya.
“Not I!” said Freeman grimly, and drew his pistol.
“Not I,” said Sonya.
She turned to Drexel. “I forgot. It would be better for you if we surrendered. You’re an American—you’re not so deeply involved as we—the Government cannot be so hard on you.”
“I’m in more danger from the gendarmes than any of you,” he returned. “We’ll not surrender.”
“Then back to the house,” she said. “We can hold it for a time. Our comrades may gather and come to our rescue. If not—anything is better than falling into the gendarmes’ hands.”