Wyatt remained on his feet; his face had grown slowly paler, and he was now rigid with barely controlled fury.
‘Gentlemen, this farce has gone on long enough,’ he said, in a voice which quivered in spite of himself. ‘If you will please go away we will get on with our breakfast.’
‘Sit down!’
The words were uttered in a sudden titanic bellow, though but for the obvious fact that Gideon was incapable of producing so much noise there was nothing upon Benjamin Dawlish’s face to betray that it was he who had shouted.
Wyatt started; the limit of his patience had come. He opened his mouth to speak, to assert his authority. Then, quite suddenly, he dropped back into his chair, his eyes dilating with as much surprise as fear. He was looking into the black barrel of a revolver.
The German stood stolidly, absolutely immobile, the dangerous little weapon levelled in one ponderous hand. ‘Here,’ he said in his unwieldy English, ‘there is one who has what I seek. To him I speak. When he returns to me what he has taken you shall all go free. Until then no one leaves this house – no one at all.’
In the silence which followed this extraordinary announcement Jesse Gideon moved forward.
‘If Mr Dawlish were to receive his property immediately it would save us all a great deal of inconvenience,’ he murmured.
For several seconds there was no movement in the room, and the singing of the birds in the greenery outside the windows became suddenly very noticeable.
Then Albert Campion coughed discreetly and handed something wrapped up in his table napkin to the girl who sat next him.