window-sill. He stared at it, fascinated. It was so close to him
that he could see the thin, yellow fingers, on one of which was a
signet ring with a blood-red stone; the misshapen knuckles, the
broken nails. He was on the point of throwing up the window when a
man's face shot up from underneath and peered into the room. There
was only the thickness of the glass between them, and the light from
the gas lamp which stood at the corner of the drive fell full upon
the white, strained features and the glittering black eyes which
stared into the room. The chink of the curtain through which Arnold
was gazing was barely an inch wide; but it was sufficient. For a
moment he stared at the man. Then he threw the curtains open and
stooped to unfasten the window. It was the affair of a few seconds
only to throw it up. To his surprise, the man did not move. Their
faces almost touched.

"What the devil do you want?" Arnold exclaimed, gripping him by the
arm.

The man did not flinch. He inclined his head towards the interior of
the room.

"Rosario, the Jew," he answered thickly. "He is in the house there.
Will you take him a message?"

"Ring at the door and bring it yourself," Arnold retorted.

The man laughed contemptuously. He stared at Arnold for a moment and
seemed to realize for the first time that he was a stranger.

"You are a fool to meddle in things you know nothing of!" he