Straining to hear, the two leaned forward, but from the hall there came no sound. The girl raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“Have they gone?” she breathed.
“If I knew that,” protested Ford, “we wouldn't be here!”
In answer to his doubt a smart rap, as though from the butt of a revolver, fell upon the door. The voice of Prothero spoke sharply:
“You, who call yourself Grant!” he shouted.
Before answering, Ford drew Miss Dale and himself away from the line of the door, and so placed the girl with her back to the wall that if the door opened she would be behind it. “Yes,” he answered.
“Pearsall and I,” called Prothero, “have decided how to dispose of you—of both of you. He has gone below to make preparations. I am on guard. If you try to break out or call for help, I'll shoot you as I warned you!”
“And I warn you,” shouted Ford, “if this lady and I do not instantly leave this house, or if any harm comes to her, you will hang for it!” Prothero laughed jeeringly.
“Who will hang me?” he mocked.
“My friends,” retorted Ford. “They know I am in this house. They know WHY I am here. Unless they see Miss Dale and myself walk out of it in safety, they will never let you leave it. Don't be a fool, Prothero!” he shouted. “You know I am telling the truth. You know your only chance for mercy is to open that door and let us go free.”