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THE PRISONER OF ZENDA.
"You may kill one," said she. "But what then?"
A voice came from outside—a voice that spoke perfect English.
"Mr. Rassendyll," it said.
I made no answer.
"We want to talk to you. Will you promise not to shoot till we've done?"
"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Detchard?" I said.
"Never mind names."
"Then let mine alone."
"All right, sire. I've an offer for you."
I still had my eye to the chink. The three had mounted two steps more; three revolvers pointed bill at the door.
"Will you let us in? We pledge our honor to observe the truce."
"Don't trust them," whispered Antoinette.
"We can speak through the door," said I.
"But you might open it and fire," objected Detchard; "and though we should finish you, you
