The housekeeper started forward, but with one heavy swing of the arm Garstang sent her staggering back, and then approached Leigh slowly, with a half-crouching movement, like some beast about to spring.
“Stand away from that door, and let me pass,” he said, huskily.
“Go back and sit down in that chair,” said Leigh sternly; and he now stepped slowly and watchfully toward him.
“Stand away from that door,” said Garstang again.
“Hah!” ejaculated Leigh, as he caught a glimpse of something in the man’s hand; and he sprang at him to dash it aside, when there was a flash, a loud report, and as a puff of smoke was driven in his face, Leigh spun round suddenly, and fell half across the farther table with a heavy thud.
At the same moment, Garstang thrust a pistol into his breast, darted to and flung open the door, to run right into the hall, where he was seized by a man, and a tremendous struggle ensued, Garstang striving fiercely to escape, his adversary to force him back toward the staircase; chairs were driven here and there, one of the marble statues fell with a crash, and twice over Garstang nearly shook his opponent off.
But he was wrestling with a younger man, who was tough, wiry, and in good training, while, in spite of the desperate strength given for the moment by fear, Garstang was portly, and his breath came and went in gasps.
“Here, you girl, open the door; call help—can’t hold him!” came in gasps.
A low wailing sound was the only response, and poor Becky, who was by the front door, with her face tied up, covered it entirely with her hands, and seemed ready to faint.
The struggle went on here and there, and once more there was the gleam of a pistol and a voice rang out: