“They've got up, some of them--somehow!” Stern cried. “They'll be at our throats, here, in a moment! Load! Load! You shoot--I'll give 'em Pulverite!”
No time, now, for caution. While the girl hastily threw in more cartridges, Stern gathered up all the remaining vials of the explosive.
These, garnered along his wounded arm which clasped them to his body, made a little bristling row of death. His left hand remained free, to fling the little glass bombs.
“Come! Come, meet 'em--they mustn't trap us, here!”
And together they crept noiselessly into the other room and thence to the corridor-door.
Out they peered.
“Look! Torches!” whispered he.
There at the far end of the hallway, a red glare already flickered on the wall around the turn by the elevator-shaft. Already the confused sounds of the attackers were drawing near.
“They've managed to dig away the barricade, somehow,” said Stern. “And now they're out for business--clubs, poisoned darts and all--and fangs, and claws! How many of 'em? God knows! A swarm, that's all!”
His mouth felt hot and dry, with fever, and the mad excitement of the impending battle. His skin seemed tense and drawn, especially upon the forehead. As he stood there, waiting, he heard the girl's quick breathing. Though he could hardly see her in the gloom, he felt her presence and he loved it.