Pushing the Princess behind the curtain and in the shelter of the
door-post, Lorry leaped toward the center of the room, a pistol
in each hand. Before him crouched the astonished desperadoes.

"If you move you are dead men!" said he, in slow decided tones.
"Here, Harry!" he shouted. "Scoundrels, you are trapped! Throw
up your hands!"

Suddenly the room was a blaze of light; flashing candles, lamps,
sprung into life from the walls, while a great chandelier above
his head dazzled him with its unexpected glare.

"Hell!" he shouted, half throwing his hands to his eyes.

Something rushed upon him from behind; there was a scream and
then a stinging blow across the head and neck. As he sank
helplessly, angrily, to his knees he heard the Princess wail:

"Dannox! Do not strike again! You have killed him!"

As he rolled to the floor he saw the two forms near the bed
moving about like shadows: two red objects that resembled dancing
telegraph poles leaped past him from he knew not where, and then
there was a shout, the report of a pistol, a horrid yell.
Something heavy crashed down beside him and writhed. His eyes
were closing, his senses were going, he was numb and sleepy.
Away off in the distance he heard Harry Anguish crying:

"That settles you, damn you!"