At that instant the two reeling bodies struck the wall next to the mantel with a fearful smash, and a chair that stood by was overturned by a quick movement on the part of Henry Dumont, who did not know his brother had already received the important message. In the confusion of the moment, he hissed in Thorne’s ear:
“Attack to-night, plan 3, use telegraph! Did you get that?”
“Yes,” returned Thorne, still keeping up the struggle.
“Good,” said Dumont. “They are watching us. Shoot me in the leg.”
“No, I can’t do it,” whispered Thorne.
All the while the two men were reeling and staggering and struggling against the wall and furniture. The encounter would have deceived the most suspicious.
“Shoot, shoot,” said the elder.
“I can’t shoot my own brother,” the younger panted out.
“It is the only way to throw them off the scent,” persisted Dumont.
“I won’t do it,” answered Thorne, and then he shouted again: