It came, keen as a knife.
"Risaldar! draw off your men and return to barracks, or I'll shoot you as a mutineer."
There was half a second's silence; then a wild laugh: "Close up, men, rush that gate--forward!"
The words and the crack of Vincent's revolver--the bullet of which, aimed too high, passed through Roshan's turban-were almost lost in the answering yell. But the risaldar stood his ground for a second, then coolly sought shelter.
That was over! They were quits now for the fair fight. And fate had been kind. He had unwittingly offered this man--his greatest enemy--a safe conduct; and it had been refused, luckily. Well! let Vincent Dering take the whole consequences. The blood of one woman was already on his head; so would be the blood spilt here. He, Roshan, would need have no further scruples.
So, as if it had gained strength from the brief respite, the turmoil recommenced; and now Roshan Khân's voice could be heard urging the men on. And there were answering shouts from different parts of the gaol.
George Dillon frowned. "They mean business now. And I fancy I hear pounding at the left section door. If so we shall have the solitary cell men--my worst lot, of course--out in the courtyard before long. Dering--can you hear anything?--there's such a confounded noise--"
Vincent, who was standing at the top of the stairs which led to the ten-feet drop, ran down a few steps and listened. Then he looked up quickly and nodded.
"They are there. The door's shaking. How many of them are there?"
"Two dozen or thereabouts; and the convalescents, of course. That's nothing--if they haven't got their leg irons off! We ought to settle most of them before they can help with the door. Still, I wish Carlyon would turn up."