ng of the sunset chill in their lairs. To all seeming they did,
for he pushed through the garden without mishap, and came to the house.
It was a four-square, two-storied building, with something of the air
of a fortress, a useful abode in those once brigand-ridden hills, some
old-time gentleman's country-seat; a mat of creepers covered it to its
tiled roof. The side near him was dark; and from the back came the
voices of three stablemen about their business. He stole round to the
front; and that too was dark. But on the further side two rooms were
lighted, one on the ground floor, one above.

A chatter of excited voices came from the lower windows; and Tinker
came to within ten yards of it, and looked in through the heavy bars.
Three men were dining at the table: a freckled redheaded man with the
high cheekbones of the Scot, a dissipated young Italian of a most
romantic air, and a small, round, vivacious man, ineffably French.

"I'm going to marry the girl, say what you will!" the Italian cried.
"Where would your scheme have been without my aid? Where would you
have found a house like this, out of the world, secure from search, in
a country where everyone is as silent as the grave in my interests?"

"Pardon, my dear Monteleone," said the Frenchman; "_I_ am going to
marry the lady. Without me, there would have been no scheme for you to
help. I made it. I rank first. I marry the young lady."

"What's all this talk about marrying the girl?" roared the Scotchman,
in French. "We agreed on a ransom of a million and a half francs, five
hundred thousand francs each!"

"The lady's beauty has changed all that," said the Frenchman. "I am
going to marry her."

"No, no: it's me; it's me," said the Italian.

"Have done with this foolish talk!" roared the Scotchman, banging the
table. "If either of you marries her, the poor young thing will be a
widow in a fortnight. I know Septimus Rainer; he'll shoot such a
son-in-law at sight!"

"Shoot me! Shoot me! This American mushroom shoot a Monteleone for
marrying his daughter!" cried the Italian. "Why, the Monteleones were
Crusaders! He'll be proud of the alliance!"

"Very proud--very proud he'll be will Septimus Rainer--when he's shot
ye," jeered the Scotchman.

A movement overhead drew Tinker's attention; he looked up, to see
Dorothy leaning out of the window above. He uttered the short click
which served him as a signal when he played the part of chief
conspi