“Curse her! she has done it,” cried James Clareborough, savagely, and he was in the act of taking aim at the trembling woman, when the pistol was struck up by Robert.
“All right,” said the scoundrel, without resenting the act, and thrusting the pistol into his pocket. “The game’s up, gentlemen—sauve qui peut.”
Robert had passed him by this time, caught his sister’s hand, and meeting with no resistance, he drew her from the window, shut and fastened it, and closed the shutters again, just as a loud peal was heard at the door bell.
The next minute Chester was at her side, the library door unlocked, and his other assailants gone.
“He’s right,” said Robert, hoarsely; “the game is up, Marion, and it is sauve qui peut.”
“You villain!” cried Chester, excitedly.
“That will do, doctor,” said Robert, coolly. “She’s fainting; help me to get her away. Poor old girl! she loved me,” he continued, kissing his sister’s ghastly face, “and she did it to save you, not to hand me over to the police. One moment. Hold her; I’ll be back directly.”
Chester caught the half-fainting burden willingly, and glanced after the young man as he darted from the room.
“Gone,” muttered Chester. “Marion, look up, love; we are safe. They have escaped.”
“Now then,” cried Robert Clareborough, returning; “I have slipped the bolts, and it will take them an hour to break in. Come!”