voice that allowed no
question as to the determination of the outsider:

"Open in the name of the Law."

No one moved or answered.

A crashing thud, from a heavy beam, snapped the bolt from its screws,
another blow tore loose the door. Through the opening and over the
debris sprang a short, broad-shouldered man in a gray suit, while three
other heavily built men entered, barring the exit.

The woman screamed and fell forward on the table, her head buried in her
clenched hands. The Baron faced the one in gray.

"What do you want?" he stammered in the voice of a ghost.

"You, Pedro Maceioe," said the man in the gray suit, in a low, even tone,
"for the last trick you will pull off in some years; open up things, do
you hear? All of it, and quick."

The Brazilian did not reply; he stood behind his chair, eyeing sullenly
the man in gray, who now held a revolver at a level with his heart.

Then the man in gray called to one of his men, his eye still on the
banker. "Break in the door at the end of the passage."

With the quickness of a cat, the Brazilian grabbed the chair and with a
swinging blow tried to fell his assailant and dash past him. The man in
gray dodged and pocketed his weapon. The next instant he had his
prisoner by the throat and had slammed him against the wall; then came
the sharp click of a pair of handcuffs. The banker tripped and fell to
the floor.

It had all happened so quickly that I was dazed as I looked on. What it
was all about I did not know. It seemed impossible that my host, a man
whose bank was well known in Paris, was really a criminal. Were the
intruders from the police? Or was it a clever ruse of four determined
burglars?

I began now to gather my wits and think of myself, although so far not
one of the intruders had taken the slightest notice of my presence.

One of the men was occupied in breaking open the door at the end of the
corridor, while another stood guard over the now sobbing, hysterical
woman. The fourth had remained at the open doorway.

As for the prisoner, who had now regained his feet, he had sunk into the
chair he had used in defence and sat there staring at the floor,
breathing in short gasps.

The man who had been ordered by his chief to break open the door at the
end of the corridor, now returned and laid upon the dinner table two
engraved metal plates, and a handful of new one-hundred-franc notes;
some I noticed from where I sat were blank on one side. With