There was a deathly silence. Then the sound of bolts. The door opened. Slowly the girl limped forward, still wearing the hunting jacket over her night-dress.
Quintana made her an elaborate and ironical bow, slouch hat in hand; another masked man took her rifle.
"Senorita," said Quintana with another sweep of his hat, "I ask pardon that I trouble you for my packet of which your father has rob me for ver' long time."
Slowly the girl lifted her blue eyes to Stormont. He was standing between two masked men. Their pistols were pressed slightly against his stomach.
Stormont reddened painfully:
"It was not for myself that I let you open your door," he said. "They would not have ventured to lay hands on me."
"Ah," said Quintana with a terrifying smile, "you would not have been the first gendarme who had — accorded me his hand!"
Two of the masked men laughed loudly.
* * * * *
Outside in the rag-weed patch, Smith rose, stole across the grass to the kitchen door and slipped inside.