mbatants. He felt for a head, found Leon's and gripped the neck so
savagely that the owner loosened his hold on Dickson. The last-named
found himself being buffeted violently by heavy-shod feet which seemed
to be manoeuvring before an unseen enemy. He rolled out of the road
and encountered another pair of feet, this time unshod. Then came the
sound of a concussion, as if metal or wood had struck some part of a
human frame, and then a stumble and fall.

After that a good many things all seemed to happen at once. There was a
sudden light, which showed Leon blinking with a short loaded
life-preserver in his hand, and Heritage prone in front of him on the
floor. It also showed Dickson the figure of Dougal, and more than one
Die-Hard in the background. The light went out as suddenly as it had
appeared. There was a whistle and a hoarse "Come on, men," and then
for two seconds there was a desperate silent combat. It ended with
Leon's head meeting the floor so violently that its possessor became
oblivious of further proceedings. He was dragged into a cubby-hole,
which had once been used for coats and rugs, and the door locked on
him. Then the light sprang forth again. It revealed Dougal and five
Die-Hards, somewhat the worse for wear; it revealed also Dickson
squatted with outspread waterproof very like a sitting hen.

"Where's Dobson?" he asked.

"In the boiler-house," and for once Dougal's gravity had laughter in
it. "Govey Dick! but yon was a fecht! Me and Peter Paterson and Wee
Jaikie started it, but it was the whole company afore the end. Are ye
better, Jaikie?"

"Ay, I'm better," said a pallid midget.

"He kickit Jaikie in the stomach and Jaikie was seeck," Dougal
explained. "That's the three accounted for. I think mysel' that Dobson
will be the first to get out, but he'll have his work letting out the
others. Now, I'm for flittin' to the old Tower. They'll no ken where
we are for a long time, and anyway yon place will be far easier to
defend. Without they kindle a fire and smoke us out, I don't see how
they'll beat us. Our provisions are a' there, and there's a grand well
o' water inside. Forbye there's the road down the rocks that'll keep
our communications open.... But what's come to Mr. Heritage?"

Dickson to his shame had forgotten all about his friend. The Poet lay
very quiet with his head on one side and his legs crooked limply. Blood
trickled over his eyes from an ugly scar on his forehead. D