the enemy had effected an entrance.

Guy's quick eye observed a big flat stone lying near, a precautionary
measure provided by some former governor, no doubt, and, calling on
Momba to assist him, he dragged it over the trap.

From below came a rush of footsteps and the sound of smashing furniture
as the Arabs hurried to and fro in search of their prey.

"We are safe for the present," said the colonel; "they can't possibly
reach us, and they may not even discover where we are."

The roof comprised the whole extent of the building, and was probably
thirty feet square. It was surrounded by a stone parapet three feet in
height, and from this parapet the little band of fugitives witnessed a
scene that none forgot to his dying day.

North and west of the residency the town seemed to be in comparative
quiet and darkness, for only stray lights were to be seen at intervals.
But off to the south lay the fortifications, and here a sharp conflict
was waging.

Through the darkness of the night the flash of every shot was seen, and
all along the line blazed out three continuous sheets of flame as the
beleaguered garrison poured their fire into the attacking parties that
advanced from both sides.

"They can't hold out an hour," said Melton. "The foe are too strong for
them."

A sharp cry from Captain Waller turned all eyes on the harbor, where the
water was illumined by twinkling lights and the flash of rifles. The
meaning of this was plain. The steamer had been attacked. No doubt
those innocent looking dhows had been filled with armed Arabs, waiting
for the signal, and now every escape was cut off. The firing was sharp
and severe for a while, and then it gave way to loud cheers.

The steamers had fallen into the hands of the enemy.

"There goes the last hope," said the colonel; "and look, even the
garrison has succumbed."

It was true. The firing had almost entirely ceased, and the few stray
shots that still rang out were drowned in the vast roar that rose from
all parts of the town.

The residency was cordoned by a surging mass of wretches, intoxicated
with triumph, and fresh hordes came pouring in, riotous from the
slaughter of the garrison.

"Some cunning fiend has planned all this," muttered Colonel Carrington,
"and planned it infernally well, too."

"The Arab, Makar Makalo, is the ringleader, sir," said Melton, "but he
is only acting for Rao Khan, the Emir of Harar, who has long desired the
port of Zalia."

"