trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his
stare.

The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's
eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the
room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that
would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of
struggling further? He might as well give up...

A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the
house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his
senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward
snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise
sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there
was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and
Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As
Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was
taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for
he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.

Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding
his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at
his side.

CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH

A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into
the room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
at his heels.

"Des," cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"

Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The
rapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene of
confusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glance
traveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair to
the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with his
face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall
something to his mind.

"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice.

"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bed
in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
woman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who's
this?"

He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attention
beside Desmond's chair.

"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
close to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm,
"he knows!"

The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn,
stood there