"'Ere, your ludship," came a throaty whisper from Watkins. "This way, gentlemen."
He was at the far end of the room, and while we watched, he put his hat on the end of his crowbar—from which he refused to be parted—and stuck it above the sill of a window.
"I've done this twice now, your ludship," he added, "and nothing's 'appened. They ain't watching 'ere."
A little investigation proved that he was right, and we crawled out into the rain and huddled against the house-wall, attempting to disentangle the situation. The rain was descending in slanting, blinding sheets. Pistols cracked and men gasped or shouted, but we could not tell whether they were friends or foes. As we waited, two men dashed by, one in pursuit of the other. It was impossible for us to intervene. Then, with a preliminary crash of thunder, the lightning zigzagged across the sky, and for the winking of an eye the courtyard was bright as day.
I had an impression of bodies scattered here and there, and little clusters of men that struggled and ran. Over in the corner of the courtyard wall by the bachelors' house men swirled in a tumultuous mass. The darkness closed down once more, thick and wet and cold.
"Coming, Nikka!" shouted Hugh. And to us: "The big fight is the key to everything. We must break it up. They've got Nikka pinned in."
Tokalji's gang faced around as we attacked their rear; but we went clean through them and almost drove on to the knives of Nikka's party.
"After them!" panted Hugh. "We've got 'em breaking!"
Nikka called to his men in their own tongue, and they lined up with us in a thin file across the courtyard from wall to wall. Behind Nikka I had a brief vision of a figure as elusive as the rain. I thought of an assassin who had flanked us and lifted my automatic—but something, the proud poise of the head, perhaps, warned me it was Kara.
There was a crackle of pistol-fire in front of us, and a knot of figures swayed into view, distorted, indistinct. The deluge seemed to act as a freak lens to play tricks with normal vision; and possibly that was why comparatively few were shot. Twice I had men fair over the barrel of my pistol, and both times I missed—and I am rather better than a good shot. But I had no opportunity for philosophizing at that time.