n whispering and then heavy breathing as Kurt came
struggling up with the first of the hidden bombs.

'We shall do it yet,' said the king. And then he gasped. 'Curse that
light. Why in the name of Heaven didn't we shut the barn door?' For the
great door stood wide open and all the empty, lifeless yard outside and
the door and six feet of the floor of the barn were in the blue glare of
an inquiring searchlight.

'Shut the door, Peter,' said Pestovitch.

'No,' cried the king, too late, as Peter went forward into the light.
'Don't show yourself!' cried the king. Kurt made a step forward and
plucked his brother back. For a time all five men stood still. It seemed
that light would never go and then abruptly it was turned off, leaving
them blinded. 'Now,' said the king uneasily, 'now shut the door.'

'Not completely,' cried Pestovitch. 'Leave a chink for us to go out
by....'

It was hot work shifting those bombs, and the king worked for a time
like a common man. Kurt and Abel carried the great things up and Peter
brought them to the carts, and the king and Pestovitch helped him to
place them among the hay. They made as little noise as they could....

'Ssh!' cried the king. 'What's that?'

But Kurt and Abel did not hear, and came blundering up the ladder with
the last of the load.

'Ssh!' Peter ran forward to them with a whispered remonstrance. Now they
were still.

The barn door opened a little wider, and against the dim blue light
outside they saw the black shape of a man.

'Any one here?' he asked, speaking with an Italian accent.

The king broke into a cold perspiration. Then Pestovitch answered: 'Only
a poor farmer loading hay,' he said, and picked up a huge hay fork and
went forward softly.

'You load your hay at a very bad time and in a very bad light,' said the
man at the door, peering in. 'Have you no electric light here?'

Then suddenly he turned on an electric torch, and as he did so
Pestovitch sprang forward. 'Get out of my barn!' he cried, and drove the
fork full at the intruder's chest. He had a vague idea that so he
might stab the man to silence. But the man shouted loudly as the prongs
pierced him and drove him backward, and instantly there was a sound of
feet running across the yard.

'Bombs,' cried the man upon the ground, struggling with the prongs in
his hand, and as Pestovitch staggered forward into view with the force
of his own thrust, he was shot through the body by one of the two
new-