“We have no time to lose,” said Tom. “Come with me.”
“But, pardon me——” said Sir Mark.
“I can’t explain now,” Tom interrupted. “Come along; it is all right, only we must get away at once.”
“At vunce, Sir Ingleton,” said Schwab. “You hear zat! For ze sake of anyzink, be a man!”
“My good sir——” began Sir Mark: but Tom again cut him short.
“Can you walk?” he asked, noticing that the Englishman tottered as he stood.
“With assistance, perhaps.”
At once Tom caught him by an arm, bidding Abdul take the other. Supporting him, they led him along the passage, up the stairway to the upper corridor, Schwab panting and ejaculating behind them. Even before they reached the corridor they heard a tremendous battering at the door whose lock had been filled with fragments of brick.
It was so stout a barrier that Tom had no fear that it would be broken down by anything short of a battering ram, and it was not likely that the Moors had at hand an instrument ready for this purpose. His confidence was, however, soon shaken, for, before the party, encumbered with the enfeebled envoy, had begun to ascend the winding stairway leading from the arched corridor to the vestibule above, there was the sound of a very heavy body striking the door, followed by an ominous creak. Leaving the others to precede him, Tom stationed himself on the narrow stair, the hammer in one hand, his revolver in the other. He was determined not to use the revolver except in the last extremity, but he had no such compunctions about using the hammer.
Suddenly in the midst of the crashing blows upon the door there was the report of a rifle. The Moors were adopting his own device of blowing in the lock. The door gave way, and by the flash of his torch, Tom saw a crowd of swarthy Riffians swarming through the opening. The door at the foot of the winding stair leading to the corridor was somewhat ruinous; it was apparently seldom used, the sheikh depending for his security upon the heavy trapdoor above. Tom, however, succeeded in pulling it to before the Moors were upon him, and shot the single crazy bolt that still held. Then he darted up the stairs after the rest. They were just lifting the envoy through the trap. Schwab was waiting his turn, and when he heard Tom rushing up, he sprang through the opening with extraordinary agility. The trapdoor was let down and bolted; they hastened up the stairway to the upper vestibule adjoining the guest-chamber, thence up to the sheikh’s quarters on the floor above, bolting every door behind them.