“Come, men,” he was saying.
“Bang,” came a deafening crash from beyond the door. Had a cannon been discharged within the house it could not have sounded louder. The thieves drew back and looked at each other dismayed.
“Bang,” came a second explosion more terrific than the first. It shook the walls of the whole dwelling and was followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.
“It is the town watch!” cried one of the robbers.
Out through the window they plunged, stumbling and jostling and falling over one another in their haste to escape. Doctor Thorndyke sprang forward in pursuit unarmed as he was, the man from Salem was about to follow, but Stephen held up his hand.
“Let them go for the moment,” he said, “should they turn upon you in the garden you were surely a dead man. I will have my servant carry the alarm to the village and call out the town watch.” He sank into the big chair and his friends hastened to support his bleeding arm.
“Open the door,” Stephen directed weakly. “Let us see to whom we owe our rescue. I am well-nigh certain that it was not the watch.”
It was Doctor Thorndyke who did his bidding, threw open the door and started back in amazement at what he saw. Upon the threshold stood a dainty little maiden with golden hair and neat, white frilled apron. In either hand she held a great, smoking, horse-pistol.
“Clotilde!” cried Stephen. “Where, in Heaven’s name, got you such weapons?”
“They were Sergeant Branderby’s,” she replied simply. “There seemed naught else to do, so it occurred to me to climb up and see if by chance, they were still loaded. I regret that I broke a window and blew two great holes in the frame.”