"The police!" exclaimed Ford. "And the shots we thought were for
those in the house were for THEM! This is what has happened," he
whispered eagerly: " Prothero attacked Cuthbert. Cuthbert gets away
and goes to the police. He tells them you are here a prisoner, that
I am here probably a prisoner, and of the attack upon himself. The
police try to make an entrance from the street--that was the first
shot we heard--and are driven back; then they try to creep in from
the yard, and those poor devils were killed."

As he spoke a sudden silence had fallen, a silence as startling as
had been the shout of warning. Some fresh attack upon the house
which the prisoners could not see, but which must be visible to
those in the houses opposite was going forward.

"Perhaps they are on the roof,"' whispered Ford joyfully. "They'll
be through the trap in a minute, and you'll be free!"

"No!" said the girl.

She also spoke in a whisper, as though she feared Prothero might
hear her. And with her hand she again pointed. Cautiously above the
top of the ladder appeared the head and shoulders of a man. He wore
a policeman's helmet, but, warned by the fate of his comrades, he
came armed. Balancing himself with his left hand on the rung of the
ladder, he raised the other and pointed a revolver. It was
apparently at the two prisoners, and Miss Dale sprang to one side.

"Standstill!" commanded Ford. "He knows who YOU are! You heard that
yell when they saw you? They know you are the prisoner, and they