There was a heavy trampling on the stairs. Almost before he had ceased speaking, the locked door was burst open to admit the members of the police, with levelled revolvers covering the masked men.
Two of the unwelcome visitors seized Somoza and handcuffed him. A third cut the secure but not painful ropes that bound Rossett, and conducted him down the narrow staircase.
A cab was waiting; his guardian bundled the young man in.
Was it a dream? Isobel’s soft arms were round him, Isobel’s soft voice was whispering to him.
“My darling, you are safe. Moreno has kept his promise.”
Rossett was bewildered. No wonder! He had hardly yet recovered from the effects of the drug which had been administered by Somoza. His head fell back on her shoulder.
“Isobel, my dear sweetheart! You here! What does it mean?”
“It means that you are saved through Moreno, and my cousin Maurice Farquhar.” She felt it was no time to palter with the truth.
“Your cousin, Maurice Farquhar! What has he to do with it all?”
She was pleased to note that there was no suspicion in his tones, only the expression of bewilderment.