"Are you hit, sir?" cried Armstrong, darting to his support.
"Yes. Leave me and hold the stairs."
At this moment the entrance was darkened by the forms of the remaining members of the attacking party, Rush and the Finn, urged forward by Gradoff and his friends. Armstrong, holding Mr. Pratt, felt that the game was up. But now came Percy leaping down the winding stairs. Into the room he dashed, carrying a long bar of iron. Taking in the situation at a glance, he flung himself at the foremost intruders. Rush doubled up under his vehement onslaught; Sibelius recoiled upon Gradoff; and the momentary check gave Armstrong time to haul Mr. Pratt out of the light to the foot of the dark stairway. Swiftly withdrawing from the heap of wreckage, Percy had barely joined them and helped to draw his uncle up a few steps to the protection of the curving wall, when four pistols cracked, and chips of stone fell clattering upon the stairs.
Immediately afterwards a burly arm and shoulder showed itself in the round of the wall. Quick as thought Percy lunged with his iron bar and jabbed the intruder just below the elbow. The man threw out a hoarse, savage cry, and disappeared. For a brief space there was silence; then came the noise of heavy feet kicking aside the debris in the room below, and rushing towards the stairway.
"Leave me," said Mr. Pratt again, sitting on one of the steps.
Armstrong sprang down, and darting in front of Percy, came face to face with one of the strangers, who was rounding the corner, brandishing a pistol. Unprepared, apparently, for sudden counter-attack, and incommoded by the right-hand twist of the narrow staircase, the man let slip his momentary chance of firing point-blank, but had enough presence of mind to dodge the blow Armstrong aimed at him. If there had been room for two abreast on the stairs it might have gone ill with Armstrong then; he staggered forward and thrust his hands against the wall to save himself from falling. Behind him, however, Percy had swiftly taken his cue. With his extemporised pike he caught the stranger in the middle. The man recoiled upon his companions in the rear. A storm of curses broke from them, but in a few moments the din subsided, and nothing was heard except the low voices of the enemy in consultation.
"Jolly good weapon," whispered Armstrong, indicating the iron bar. "Where did you get it?"
"Wrenched it off my uncle's bedstead," replied Percy.
"Any more?"
"One."