My heart stood still. The police had tracked me!
“Well, and if it is? What then?” I asked.
“We arrest you for murder and conspiracy!”
His words gave my arms a demoniacal strength. In a moment I had freed myself, and scarcely knowing why I did so, I quickly pointed my revolver at a man who attempted to recapture me, and pulled the trigger.
There was a bright flash, a report, and the man fell back into the arms of one of his companions.
Cries of “Kill him!” “Shoot him!” “Hang him!” were heard on all sides, while I stood, revolver in hand, ready to defend myself.
“Let’s take him back to old Vincenti’s and hear what he’s got to say,” said a tall man, who seemed to be leader.
This proposition met with general disfavour, especially from one officious man, the leader of the band of brigands who had resolved to assist the gendarmes in my capture, who produced a long pair of reins, and leading the way to a spreading oak-tree that stood near, exclaimed, “Here’s a good limb. Come, fetch him along.”
But the tall man demurred and had his way. “If he can’t give a proper account of himself, we’ll make short work of him,” he said.
I attempted to explain, but a pistol was held at my head with a peremptory command to be silent. My arms were then bound, and I was marched back to the half-ruined villa and placed in one corner of the common room of the inn.