Tony Standish's face crimsoned in annoyance, and a vicious expression
flashed into his pale blue eyes.
"How much do you want?" he snapped.
Don Carlos did not answer. He rose from the table and walked to and
fro, reiterating: "Ten thousand pesetas--sixty pounds!"
Tony cursed under his breath, then his glance fell on the automatic
pistol lying on the table, and he snatched it up and levelled it at his
captor.
"Hands up, or I'll put a bullet through you!" he cried excitedly.
"Ten thousand pesetas--sixty pounds!" sneered Don Carlos again, paying
no heed to the pistol levelled at him. "So that is the value you place
on the woman you profess to love!"
Stung to fury and scarcely realising what he was doing, Tony Standish
fired, but the shot did not seem to take effect, and before he could
fire a second time Myra sprang at him and snatched the pistol from his
hand. As she did so, the two guards dashed into the room, grappled
with Tony and bore him to the floor. One of them put a knife to the
Englishman's throat, and twisted round his head to call out something
to his master.
"No, not now," said Don Carlos shortly, in Spanish. "Take him away,
manacle him, and guard him closely."
The men dragged Standish to his feet and hustled him out of the room,
and as they did so Don Carlos reeled, a gasping cry broke from him, and
he collapsed in a heap on the floor.