it at the upper half of the door to the hall.

"When the next volley comes," he said, "I'll smash the panel."

With the bar raised high, his muscles on a strain, he stood alert
and poised, waiting for a shot from the room below to call forth an
answering volley from the house-tops. But no sound came from below.
And the sharp-shooters, waiting for the madmen to expose
themselves, held their fire.

Ford's muscles relaxed, and he lowered his weapon. He turned his
eyes inquiringly to the girl. "What's THIS mean?" he demanded.
Unconsciously his voice had again dropped to a whisper.

"They're short of ammunition," said the girl, in a tone as low as
his own; "or they are coming HERE."

With a peremptory gesture, Ford waved her toward the room adjoining
and then ran to the window.

The girl was leaning forward with her face close to the door. She
held the finger of one hand to her lips. With the other hand she
beckoned. Ford ran to her side.

"Some one is moving in the hall," she whispered. "Perhaps they are
escaping by the roof? No, "she corrected herself. "They seem to be
running down the stairs again. Now they are coming back. Do you
hear?" she asked. " It sounds like some one running up and down the
stairs. What can it mean?"