"Anyhow, I'll have time to send another telegram, if I die for it," said Tim, who was hastily scribbling notes. "Where's Manuel?"
Manuel had vanished; so Tim, with a growl, sat down to work the instrument himself.
"Keep those devils out, with your men," he said to Philip, who was barricading the windows with Jack. "I'll send one telegram, saying Janjalla has fallen, and then we'll go off."
"How the devil are we to get away?" asked Philip, angrily.
"Easily. The cavalry barracks are behind here. We'll get round by the back way and seize the horses, then cut our way out by the land-gate. Once across the river, and we are safe."
Philip did not wait for the conclusion of this speech, but, with a few men, dashed out at the back of the house to see if the horses were still there. Jack would have followed, but Peter stopped him.
"I have my medicine-chest here. Let me bind up your shoulder." Jack was unwilling, protesting he did not feel the wound.
"Bosh, my dear boy, you are excited. You will feel it afterwards. If we are to ride to Centeotl, you will need all the blood you have. Don Sebastian can hold the telegraph-office."
Don Sebastian had posted his men at the windows, and was firing at the mass of rebels, now trying to take the house by storm. All this time Tim was working the instrument and wiring the news of the fall of the city to his editor. Through the yells outside, the rattle of the musketry, and the curses of Don Sebastian could be heard the incessant click, click, click of the telegraph-instrument.
A bomb exploded on the roof of the house, and a few yards of plaster fell from the ceiling. Peter had finished binding up Jack's wound, and now they were both defending the windows and doors of the mansion.