They were brought up short at the end of that long, chill gallery
by closed double doors. Beyond these an organ was pealing, and
overhead the clapper of the alarm bell was beating more furiously
than ever. All realised that they stood upon the threshold of the
chapel and that the conventuals had taken refuge there.

Mr. Butler checked upon a sudden suspicion. "Maybe, after all,
they've taken us for French," said he.

A trooper ventured to answer him. "Best let them see we're not
before we have the whole village about our ears."

"Damn that bell," said the lieutenant, and added: "Put your
shoulders to the door."

Its fastenings were but crazy ones, and it yielded almost instantly
to their pressure - yielded so suddenly that Mr. Butler, who himself
had been foremost in straining against it, shot forward half-a-dozen
yards into the chapel and measured his length upon its cold flags.

Simultaneously from the chancel came a great cry: "Libera nos,
Domine! followed by a shuddering murmur of prayer.

The lieutenant picked himself up, recovered the lantern that had
rolled from his grasp, and lurched forward round the angle that hid
the chancel from his view. There, huddled before the main altar
like a flock of scared and stupid sheep, he beheld the conventuals
- some two score of them perhaps and in the dim light of the heavy
altar lamp above them he could make out the black and white habit
of the order of St. Dominic.