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
conspirator. She looked straight down at him, but did not move or
answer, and he knew that there was someone, an enemy, in the room with
her.
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