The light played on the blade of the keen-edged sword, as if it were phosphorescent, but the lambent quivering was not seen by the holder of the lantern, who hid Capel with his own hand as the light was flashed upon the bed and into the corners of the room, and then turned off.
“All right, boys,” was whispered, and a man swung himself into the room. “Be quick, and shut the window.”
A second man crept softly in, and the third was half in, when he slipped, threw out his hand to save himself, struck against one of his companions and drove him back against the curtain and upon Capel.
“Light! Barkers! Some one here.”
Capel heard the words, saw the flash, and struck at the hand that held it.
The blade fell heavily upon the lantern and dashed it to the floor, where it went out.
Raising the sword he struck again, but as he did so, one of the men sprang at him, and the blow that fell was upon the fellow’s shoulder, and with the hilt of the sword.
Capel was borne back by the man’s fierce spring, his feet became entangled in the curtain and he fell heavily, with his adversary upon him.
“Quick, Morris,” whispered a voice.
“No, no. Curse you. Shut the window. There’s only one. Where’s your matches? Quick, light the glim! Ah, would you? Lie still and bite that. You just move again and I’ll pull the trigger.”