“Yes, uncle.”
“Then, when I give the word, pass through first and stand aside while I bolt and bar the inner door.—Ah! it’s time to move. Now then, fire, and then dash through into the lobby.”
It was none too soon, for all at once, after a thundering crack or two, the remains of the door gave way. The marauders rushed in with a yell, but to be met with another little volley; and as they came on, yelling savagely, and making a rush for the position occupied by the defenders, as indicated by the flashes of the revolvers, yet another volley was fired, checking them for the moment, and giving Uncle Jeff time to slam the inner door in their faces, and to lock and bolt it rapidly in the black darkness.
“There!” he said; “that will take them some time to get through, and every minute is of value now.”
Stan could hear the enemy raging round the office they had just quitted; and then, after a little shouting, the shape of the door became visible, marked out as it was by faint lines of light, while from the keyhole came a vivid ray which cut through the black passage and formed a dull spot upon the wall at the end.
“Let’s go up now,” said Uncle Jeff, “and do a little firing from one of the upstair windows.”
“Do you mean to come down here again?” asked Stanley’s father.
“Not while these ruffians are near.—What do you say, Stan?”
“It would be like throwing our lives away, uncle.”
“Quite right, my boy. No; we will lock the door at the top of the stairs and then barricade it. We shall be pretty safe then from attack made below.”