nce that came to pass, it would be all over with me. But at my
fifth blow he wavered groggily, and at my sixth, endurance failed him.
He groaned softly. Then his grasp relaxed, and he collapsed quietly on
the floor.

Throughout the swift march of these events we had heard nothing of Herr
von Blenheim, a fact from which I deduced with thankfulness that he was
temporarily stunned. Unluckily, he now recovered. As I stood victorious,
but breathless, my cap lost in the scuffle and my coat torn, I heard him
stirring, and an instant later he pulled himself to his feet and flashed
on an electric torch.

By its weird beam I saw that Miss Falconer was close beside me. Good
heavens! Why, I though in anguish, wasn't she already upstairs? But I
knew only too well; she wouldn't desert her champion. It was probably
too late now. Blenheim, much congested as to countenance, seemed on the
point of springing; his battered aids were struggling up in menacing,
if unsteady, fashion; and Mr. Schwartzmann, at length provided with the
light he wanted, was aiming at me with ominous deliberation from his
coign of vantage above.

However, we were at the circular staircase. Again I caught up the table
and held it before us as a shield while we climbed upward, side by side.
In the distance my friend Schwartzmann was hopefully potting at us. A
bullet, with a sharp ping, embedded itself in the thick wood in harmless
fashion; another struck the shaft beside me, splintering its stone.
We were at the last turn--but our pursuers were climbing also. I bent
forward and let them have the table, hurling it with all possible force.

As it catapulted down upon them it knocked Blenheim off his balance,
and he in his unforeseen descent swept the others from their feet. A
swearing, groaning mass, a conglomeration of helplessly waving arms and
legs, they rolled downward. Victory! I was about to join Miss Falconer
in the doorway when there came a final flash from the opposite
staircase, and I felt a stinging sensation across my forehead and a
spurt of blood into my eyes.

The pain of the slight wound promptly altered my intentions. Instead
of leaving the gallery, I sprang forward to the balustrade. Whipping my
revolver out at last, I aimed deliberately and fired; whereupon I had
the pleasure of seeing Mr. Schwartzmann rock, struggle, apparently
regain his equilibrium, and then suddenly crumple up and pitch headlong
down the stairs.

Below, Blenheim and his fr