"Help! help!"
Then his assailant sprung upon him. Hinchley grappled him with all the fury of desperation, and the two rolled over and over in deadly strife. The man who had kept guard by the servant's bed escaped at the first tumult; but those two men continued that fearful conflict. Hinchley was a brave man; the belief that his life was at stake gave him the strength of a tiger. He shrieked for help in a voice which rung through the house and roused even the intoxicated sleepers below.
There was a sound in the halls of eager voices and rapid feet. Hinchley's assailant tried to dash him to the floor and escape; but those long, slender arms seemed made of iron, and held him pinioned.
At that moment the servant woke from the stupor, which had only taken a partial effect upon his senses, and sprung up with a mad cry.
"Help, Martin, help!" shrieked Hinchley, feeling his strength begin to fail. "Come, I say!"
Half stupefied as he was, the man comprehended his master's danger, rushed upon their foe, and hurled him back upon the floor just as he succeeded in escaping from Hinchley's hold.
This instant the door was broken open, and a crowd of infuriated men rushed into the chamber, roused by those shrieks for aid.
A few quick words explained the whole affair. The troop pushed Hinchley and his servant back, seized the man and dragged him toward the window. The moonlight fell broadly on his terror-stricken face.
"It's Phil Yates!" exclaimed a score of voices.
The wretch had ceased to struggle; he felt that his doom was sealed, and lay panting and passive in their clutches.