The barrel of a revolver had been thrust between Capel’s teeth, and as he lay back with the man on his chest, half stunned, helpless and despairing, he saw indistinctly the figure against the window, heard the sash slide down, and the darkness was complete as the curtain was drawn over the panes. Then there was the faint streak of light as a match was struck, the bull’s-eye lantern was picked up and re-lit, and the bright rays once more played all about the room.
The man who held it then went to the door and listened.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “You said nobody can’t hear what goes on in this room. These curtains would suffocate a trumpet. Here, you,” he cried to the third man, “don’t stand shivering like that. Take that carving-knife out of his hand. Pull the trigger, Dick, if he stirs.”
This to the man kneeling on Capel’s chest.
Capel lay absolutely powerless at that moment; but, as the third fellow caught him by the wrist, the young man wrenched his head on one side, and heaved himself up, so that he partially dislodged the ruffian who held him down. At the same time he swung the sabre round, driving the third back, and striking the principal adversary so sharp a blow that he slipped aside, and Capel leaped to his feet.
At that moment the light was turned off, and there was a rush made to get beyond his reach.
Capel also took advantage of the total darkness to step back, but he held the weapon ready for a cut, should an attack be made.
As he stood there, panting, a low whisper rose from the direction of the door, and he just caught its import, “Give me the light.”
There was a click directly after, and then from about the middle of the room the dazzling light of the bull’s-eye shone out full upon Capel as he stood with upraised sword, while his assailants were in the dark.
“Now, then,” said the voice which he recognised as that of the man who had held the pistol to his mouth, “throw down that tool.”