The bandit faced him, and threw his cigarette over his shoulder in the chimney-place.  “Do I look like a joker?”

“You sit there, like that, and talk of killing me in cold blood?”

Lopez took him in through half-closed lids.  “I do not like you.  Nobody like you.  Alive, you are no good.  Dead, you make two people which I love ’appy.  You get me, Senor Wall Street?”

“Oh, I see,” cried Pell, wildly, and doing his best to keep his legs from giving way, “you would kill me so that my wife can marry this Gilbert Jones?” A sickly smile curled around his mouth.

Lopez nodded. “Si, senor.”

“If that’s all, I’ll give her a divorce!”

“You weel give her a divorce?” Lopez repeated, pretending to be much interested and pleased.

Pell saw a gleam of hope through the darkness of this moment.  “Yes,” came breathlessly from him.  “Then she can marry him.  Don’t you see?  If that’s all you want—­he can have her.”  He was shaking now in every limb.  Escape was almost his.  He knew he could not be done away with.  “I’ll give her to him!” He staggered toward Lopez, “I will!  I swear I will!” he screamed, his words reaching a high falsetto.

Lopez rose.  “I would look at you once before I shoot,” he said slowly, and took in the other’s cringing form.

“What?” Pell said.

Disgust was on the features of the bandit—­contempt and unbelievable loathing.

“I ’ave met mans which would not fight for zeir money,” he said with great deliberation, his lip curled.  “I ’ave met mans which would not fight for zeir lives.  But I ’ave never before met ze man which would not fight for ’is woman.”

Pell saw that he was doomed now.  He made one final desperate attempt.  “But if you—­shoot me—­you’ll be hanged!”

“Ha!” laughed Lopez.  “If I am ever caught, I shall be ’anged many times!”

“I’m an American citizen!” shrilled Pell.

“I ’ave kill many American citizens,” replied Lopez, without the slightest compunction.

Pell wrung his hands.  “My Goverment will pursue you!”

“You are mistaken.  Your Government will watchfully wait.  We kill American citizen.  Your Government write us beautiful letter about it....  But we have waste time!” He drew his gun.

As Lopez leveled the weapon.  Pell all but dropped on his knees.  “Wait!” he cried.  “I’ll give you money!  Plenty of money!  A million dollars!  Yes, two million!” It could not be that so shameful a fate was to be his.

“It is not zat we want money,” the bandit replied.  “It is zat we don’t want you.”

Terror seized poor Pell.  “But for God’s sake,” he wailed, “you wouldn’t do that!  You couldn’t!  Without even a chance for my life.  At least fight me fair!” His voice seemed far away to him—­like the voice of another being from a distant world.

“Fair?” Lopez rolled the word over.