e said to Neeland coolly enough:

"You'd better go below, sir. We 'ad our orders to take this Breslau
rat alive, but we can't do it now, and there's like to be a 'orrid
mess 'ere directly."

"Can we get through below?"

"_You_ can," said the man significantly, "but they'll be detaining one
o' them ladies at the door."

"Do you mean me?" said Ilse Dumont.

"Yes, ma'am, I do----"

She sprang toward the attic stairway, but the British agent whipped
out a pistol and covered her.

"No," he said grimly. "You're wanted below. Go down!"

She came slowly back to where Neeland was standing.

"You'll have to take your chance below," he said under his breath.
"I'll stand by you to the end."

She smiled and continued on toward the stairs where the English agent
stood. Neeland and the Russian girl followed her.

The agent said:

"There's 'ell to pay below, sir."

The depths of the house rang with the infernal din of blows falling on
iron shutters. A deeper, more sinister roar rose from the mob outside.
There was a struggle going on inside the building, too; Neeland could
hear the trampling and surging of men on every floor--voices calling
from room to room, shouts of anger, the terrible outcry of a man in
agony.

"Wot a rat's nest, then, there was in this here blessed 'ouse, sir!"
said the British agent, coolly. "If we get Breslau and the others on
the roof we've bagged 'em all."

The Russian girl was trembling so violently that Neeland took her by
the arm. But Ilse Dumont, giving her a glance of contempt, moved
calmly past the British agent to the head of the stairway.

"Come," she said to Neeland.

The agent, leaning over the banisters, shouted to a man on the next
floor:

"Look sharp below there! I'm sendin' Miss Dumont down with Mr.
Neeland, the American! Take her in charge, Bill!"

"Send her along!" bawled the man, framing his face with both hands.
"Keep Breslau on the roof a bit and we'll 'ave the beggar in a few
moments!"

Somebody else shouted up from the tumult below:

"It's war, 'Arry! 'Ave you 'eard? It's war this morning! Them 'Uns 'as
declared war! And the perlice is a-killin' of the Apaches all over
Paris!"

Ilse Dumont looked curiously at the agent, calmly at Neeland, then,
dropping one hand on the banisters, she went lightly down the stairs
toward the uproar below, followed by Neeland and the Russian girl
clinging to his arm with both desperate little hands.

The British agent hung far