‘Come, come,’ I cried, when I had reached Phroso. ‘Come back, come back! They’ve cut the rope and they’ll be on us directly.’
In spite of her amazement she rose as I bade her. We heard feet running along the passage. They would be across the bridge now. Would they stop and fire down the chasm? No, they were coming on. We also went on; a touch of Phroso’s practised fingers opened the door for us; I turned, and in wrath gave the pursuers one more shot. Then I ran up the stairs and shut the door behind us. We were in the hall again—but Phroso and I alone.
A hurried story told her all that had happened. Her breath came quick and her cheek flushed.
‘The cowards!’ she said. ‘They dared not attack us when we were all together!’
‘They will attack us before very long now,’ said I, ‘and we can’t possibly hold the house against them. Why, they may open that trap-door any moment.’
Phroso stepped quickly towards it, and, stooping for a instant, examined it. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘they may. I can’t fasten it. You spoilt the fastening with your pick.’
Hearing this, I stepped close up to the door, reloading my revolver as I went, and I called out, ‘The first man who looks out is a dead man.’
No sound came from below. Either they were too hurt to attempt the attack, or, more probably, they preferred the safer and surer way of surrounding and overwhelming us by numbers from outside. Indeed we were at our last gasp now; I flung myself despondently into a chair; but I kept my finger on my weapon and my eye on the trap-door.
‘They cannot get back—our friends—and we cannot get to them,’ said Phroso.
‘No,’ said I. Her simple statement was terribly true.