The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. His lips were tight drawn. In spite of his care, he came in contact with a man, who, endeavouring to grasp him, cried, in the voice of Mendez, "Who goes dere? Shpeak! or I fire!" No answer being returned, the Jew instantly discharged his pistol, and though the shot did no damage, the flash discovered Sheppard. This means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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