“Give her some more,” said the old woman.  “Give her all of it,” and this was done.

Slowly the time dragged by, until they heard a shouting in the distance, followed by a pistol shot.  Then two horses burst into view, one ridden by Ostrello, and the other by a doctor who lived not a great distance away.

“I will do all I can,” said the physician, as he leaped to the ground.  He set to work at once, meanwhile questioning the old woman regarding what had already been done.  “That was all right—­it has helped to put the patient into a perspiration and keep up the heart action.”

“Another doctor is also coming,” said Ostrello to Raymond and the detective.

“In that case I’ll join my men,” came from Adam Adams.  “By that pistol shot something must be doing.  I will be back later.  See that that old woman does not get away.”  And he was off.

Something was indeed doing.  The old mill had been surrounded and the chief of police had entered the building, followed by several other men of the party.  The counterfeiters were taken by surprise, but they did not give up at once.  Some began to fight, and in the melee two were seriously wounded.  Then all but three surrendered, these three doing what they could to get out by a back way.  One of the three was Matlock Styles.

The three men came out in the woods, and one was quickly shot in the leg, and fell headlong among the trees.  Seeing this the second man shouted that he would surrender, and threw up his arms as a signal.

“You bloomin’ fool!  I’ll not surrender!” cried Matlock Styles, and ran on, through the woods, and up the hill that led to the cottage.

He was still some distance off, when Adam Adams saw him coming.  The detective had his pistol in his hand.

“Stop, Styles, or I’ll fire on you!” he called out.

For an answer the Englishman raised his own pistol and fired point blank, the bullet cutting through the loose flap of Adam Adams’ coat.  Then the Englishman went down, with a bullet in his left side.  When Adam Adams ran up to him he was twisting and breathing heavily.

“You’ve done me up, hang you!” he gasped.  “Oh, if I only could get at you!” and he tried to crawl towards his pistol, but Adam Adams promptly kicked it out of the way.

“You’re down and out, Styles,” said the detective.  “It won’t do you any good to squirm.  You’re in the hands of the law.”

“What for, counterfeiting?”

“That and worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yes, a good deal worse.  Murder!”

By nightfall all of the prisoners were either in the jail or at the hospital at Sidham.  Some of the secret service authorities from New York had arrived, and to them Adam Adams turned over the case, so far as it related to the counterfeiters.

“I did not start out to round up such a gang,” he said, in speaking of the affair to Mr. Breslow, some days later.  “I came here to clear up the murder mystery.”