Those moments were full of wild excitement. From one room to another we dashed quickly, but discovered absolutely nothing to arouse any suspicions until we started to ascend the narrow flight of stairs, when, on doing so, we were suddenly confronted by the dark figure of a man standing at the head, with a revolver pointed straight at us. He spoke no word, but I was amazed to recognise him as the man who had once before made a dastardly attempt upon my life—Rodolphe Wolf! Then I knew that that cottage, as Edith had declared, contained the key to the mystery.
“If you attempt to come up here, I shall shoot!” cried the spy in English.
“I call upon you, in the name of the law, to surrender as my prisoner,” responded Chick firmly in his loud, ringing voice. “I don’t know your name, but I arrest you all the same.”
“His name is Wolf,” I explained breathlessly. “He is Rodolphe Wolf, the French spy!”
It seemed that then for the first time did the fellow recognise me, for, peering down, he cried: “It is you—you! Gerald Ingram!”
“Yes,” I answered. “Your secret is out! We know the truth! Surrender!”
“Never!” he shouted, standing at bay. “Advance a step, and I’ll shoot you both dead.”
“The place is surrounded. You cannot escape,” Chick replied. “I am an officer of Metropolitan Police, and command you to lay down your weapon.”
But he refused, and we both saw that to ascend that narrow staircase in face of his revolver was a very risky proceeding. A dozen times Chick repeated the demand, but the adventurer was nothing daunted. The secret, if anywhere, was in that room, and he was evidently determined to guard it with his life.
Of a sudden the inspector, handing me the revolver, whispered to me to remain there, covering Wolf so as to prevent his escape, and assured me that he would return instantly. He rushed outside, but returned to my side in a few moments.