his weapon round and slashed at the man upon his right. But the stroke
was wide of its mark, and the big man struck at the sword with his
stick, struck with all his might, so that Wogan's arm tingled from the
wrist to the shoulder. That, however, was the least part of the damage
the stick did. It broke Wogan's sword short off at the hilt.

Both men gave a cry of delight. Wogan dropped the hilt.

"I have a loaded pistol, my friends; you have forgotten that," he cried,
and plucked the pistol from his belt. At the same moment he felt behind
him with his left hand for the knob of the door. He fired at the
swordsman and his pistol missed, he flung it at the man with the stick,
and as he flung it he sprang to the right, threw open the door, darted
into the passage, and slammed the door to.

It was the work of a second. The men sprang at him as he opened the
door; as he slammed it close a sword-point pierced the thin panel and
bit like a searing iron into his shoulder. Wogan uttered a cry; he heard
an answering shout in the room, he clung to the handle, setting his foot
against the wall, and was then stabbed in the back. For his host was
waiting for him in the passage.

Wogan dropped the door-handle and turned. That last blow had thrown him
into a violent rage. Possessed by rage, he was no longer conscious of
wounds or danger; he was conscious only of superhuman strength. The
knife was already lifted to strike again. Wogan seized the wrist which
held the knife, grappled with the innkeeper, and caught him about the
body. The door of the room, now behind him, was flung violently open.
Wogan, who was wrought to a frenzy, lifted up the man he wrestled with,
and swinging round hurled him headlong through the doorway. The three