At the top of the stairs, the Germans turned and poured a volley into the marines. One man staggered, but recovered himself and went forward again. At the end of the hall was a small ladder which led to the roof of the building. Fear lent wings to the Germans, who shot up the ladder with swiftness and dispatch. There was a loud bang as the trap door above was dropped into place even as Bowers’ head would have passed through the opening. The result was that Bowers bumped his head against the door.
“Drat ’em!” exclaimed the sergeant. “They’ve got clear. Well, we’ve got to get ’em; that’s all there is about that. Timothy, you and the others hop out of here and head ’em off if they try to get down through the house to the left. I’ll stay here in case they come back this way.”
“But——” began Timothy.
“You heard me, didn’t you?” demanded Bowers angrily. “Who’s the sergeant here, I want to know, huh?”
“All right. It’s your funeral,” said Timothy with a shrug. “Come on, fellows.”
He led the way from the house.
Meanwhile, Hal and his men, who had entered the house to the right of that in which Sergeant Bowers now stood guard alone, had encountered stiff opposition within. They found the Germans outnumbered them greatly, but Hal was not disposed to give up.
The Germans, of course, were not able to make sure of the number of the Americans and for this reason they retreated upstairs when the front door was knocked in. They fired at the first head to show itself in the opening, but not a bullet struck home.
From the second floor, these Germans also climbed to the roof and closed the trap-door, thus balking Hal and his men of their prey.
“They went up,” said Hal. “They’ll have to come down some time.”