“Exactly!” he cried. “The man outside, who is not down an area with a knife in him, but who at this moment is bringing the police—he will tell!”
As though he had not been interrupted, Prothero continued thoughtfully:
“What they may say he expected to find here, I can explain away later. The point is that I found a strange man, hatless, dishevelled, prowling in my house. I called on him to halt; he ran, I fired, and unfortunately killed him. An Englishman's home is his castle; an English jury——”
“An English jury,” said Ford briskly, “is the last thing you want to meet—— It isn't a Chicago jury.”
The Jew flung back his head as though Ford had struck him in the face.
“Ah!” he purred, “you know that, too, do you?” The purr increased to a snarl. “You know too much!”
For Pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarming meaning. He sprang toward Prothero, and laid both hands upon his disengaged arm.
“For God's sake,” he pleaded, “come away! He can't hurt you—not alive; but dead, he'll hang you—hang us both. We must go, now, this moment.” He dragged impotently at the left arm of the giant. “Come!” he begged.
Whether moved by Pearsall's words or by some thought of his own, Prothero nodded in assent. He addressed himself to Ford.
“I don't know what to do with you,” he said, “so I will consult with my friend outside this door. While we talk, we will lock you in. We can hear any move you make. If you raise the window or call I will open the door and kill you—you and that woman!”