I crouched on the floor, pushing Jetta back to where the shadows of the bed hid her.
"You American!"
He was close outside the window. "Come out—or I am coming in!"
I said abruptly, "Come!"
My blade was in my hand. If he showed himself I could slash his throat, doubtless. But what about Jetta? My thoughts flashed upon the heels of my defiant invitation. Suppose, as De Boer climbed in the window, I killed him? I could not escape, and his infuriated fellows would rush us, firing through the oval, sweeping the room, killing us both. But Jetta now was in no danger. Her father was outside, and these bandits were her father's friends. I would have to yield.
I called, louder, "Why don't you come in?"
Could I hold them off? Frighten them off, for a time, and make enough noise so that perhaps someone passing in the nearby street would give the alarm and bring help?
There was a sudden silence in the patio. The bandits had so far made as little commotion as possible. Presently I could hear their low voices.
