d fearfully down at
Weishelm who no longer moved where he lay on the dusty floor, with
eyes and mouth open and his distorted face already half covered by a
wet and crawling scarlet mask.

"Brandes and Stull are betraying us," she whispered. "They are killing
my comrades--on the stairs down there----"

"If that is true," called out Neeland in a low, cautious voice, "you'd
better wait a moment, Sengoun!"

But Sengoun's rage for combat had already filled him to overflowing,
and the last rag of patience left him.

"I don't care who is fighting!" he bellowed. "It's all one to me! Now
is the time to shoot our way out of this. Come on, Neeland! Hurrah for
the Terek Cossacks! Another town taken! Hurrah!"

Neeland caught Ilse by the wrist:

"You'd better get free of this house while you can!" he said, dragging
her with him after Sengoun, who had already reached the head of the
stairs and was starting down, peering about for a target.

Suddenly, on the landing below, Golden Beard and Ali Baba appeared,
caught sight of Sengoun and Neeland above, and opened fire on them
instantly, driving them back from the head of the staircase flat
against the corridor wall. But Golden Beard, seeming to realise now
that the garret landing was held and the way to the roof cut off,
began to retreat from the foot of the garret stairs with Ali Baba
following, their restless, upward-pointed pistols searching for the
slightest movement in the semi-obscurity of the hallway above.

Sengoun, fuming and fretting, had begun to creep toward the head of
the stairs again, when there came a rattling hail of shots from below,
a rush, the trample of feet, the crash of furniture and startling slam
of a door.

Downstairs straight toward the uproar ran Sengoun with Neeland beside
him. The halls were swimming in acrid fumes; the floors trembled and
shook under the shock as a struggling, fighting knot of men went
tumbling down the stairway below, reached the landing and burst into
the rooms of the Cercle Extranationale.

Leaning over the banisters, Neeland saw Golden Beard turn on Doc
Curfoot, raging, magnificent as a Viking, his blue eyes ablaze. He
hurled his empty pistol at the American; seized chairs, bronzes,
andirons, the clock from the mantel, and sent a storm of heavy
missiles through the doorway among the knot of men who were pressing
him and who had already seized Ali Baba.

Then, from the banisters above, Neeland and Sengoun saw Brandes,
movi