The young man tramped over him and upon him, and beat the
second burglar with savage, whirlwind blows. The second
burglar, shrieking with pain, turned to fly, and a fist, that
fell upon him where his bump of honesty should have been,
drove his head against the lintel of the door.

At the same instant from the belfry on the roof there rang out
on the night the sudden tumult of a bell; a bell that told as
plainly as though it clamored with a human tongue, that the
hand that rang it was driven with fear; fear of fire, fear of
thieves, fear of a mad-man with a knife in his hand running
amuck; perhaps at that moment creeping up the belfry stairs.

From all over the house there was the rush of feet and men's
voices, and from the garden the light of dancing lanterns.
And while the smoke of the revolver still hung motionless, the
open door was crowded with half-clad figures. At their head
were two young men. One who had drawn over his night clothes
a serge suit, and who, in even that garb, carried an air of
authority; and one, tall, stooping, weak of face and
light-haired, with eyes that blinked and trembled behind great
spectacles and who, for comfort, hugged about him a gorgeous
kimono. For an instant the newcomers stared stupidly through
the smoke at the bodies on the floor breathing stertorously,
at the young man with the lust of battle still in his face, at
the girl shrinking against the wall. It was the young man in
the serge suit who was the first to move.

"Who are you?" he demanded.