All were silent while the surgeon amputated the doomed member. This done, he wiped his instruments, laid them upon the small table and stood erect.
"This man," said he, as his eyes turned to each of the bearded men, "has suffered much. His breathing is slow and irregular. His voice is stilled. Let us leave him thus."
"Never!" declared the leader in a determined tone. "It shall not be. We each have read the unfolded document. It is most brutal that he should take all that this kind old woman trusted in his hands. She now does die in want and misery, while Lucifer does still live. He takes her life blood, and you would ask that we should let him pass."
His voice grew strong.
"Men of the mystic art, this doctor has grown weak. We can not falter now. Say what you will. I wait."
"It shall be death," declared the mystic of the third art.
"Not by my hands," said the doctor with a groan.
"Perhaps not," the leader replied, "but so shall it be. Lucifer can not speak, nor can he walk, neither can he move from the flatness of his back. Still his clutching hands remain."
"Just that," murmured the three mystics in unison.
"Doctor, we excuse you," said one, reaching out his hand, "Place in my hand the keenest instrument that you have and we will ask no more."
A moment, and the shining blade was in his hand. He held up the other.
"Lucifer can now move his right arm," he whispered.
He held the knife toward the man on the table.
Lucifer's clutching fingers seized the handle.
"The point shall go to his chest," commanded the mystic, "and he shall press it to the hilt."
He stood over the white-haired man and spoke in sepulchral tones.
"Place your forefinger upon the end and meet death by your own hand."
Slowly, the point went to the place indicated. Little by little, the blade entered the flesh.
"Hold!" commanded the leader. "We leave now. Let the spell still hold him. But I decree that he shall be alone when the end does come."
He turned quarter way round and addressed the minister.
"Offer up a silent prayer, and we shall be gone."
With upraised hands the minister prayed, then touched the forehead of the money lender. He folded his arms and nodded that he was through.
"When we are out the door, press hard, Lucifer," ordered the mystic. "Press hard or we will return."
Six bearded then fell into line, and filed slowly out of the room, and through the outer door.
Lucifer pressed hard and long with his forefinger. Faintly, the sound of a distant bell rang in his ears. It was not until he heard the foot-falls of his approaching secretary that he unclosed his eyes.
Before him lay the open document, and beside it the numerous folded ones. He beckoned the secretary to come close.
"Take these papers," said he weakly, "and bring every one of the people who have signed them to my library at noon today. Call my banker and have him present also, for I shall write checks freely—freely, my dear fellow, freely."
He arose and staggered forward a few steps.
"Your arm, dear sir, your arm. I will now go to my room that I may become rested."
