First, Frank, with his knife.
Second, Bob, with his chair.
Third, Clive, with his chair.
Fourth, David, with his knife.
Fifth, Uncle Moses, with his razor.
Every one held his weapon in a grasp which the excitement of the moment had rendered convulsive. Every eye was fixed upon the hatchway above, which lay concealed in the gloom. Overhead they heard, whispering, but no movement whatever.
"Let's jump out of the windows and run," whispered Bob, hurriedly.
"No," said Frank, "they are watching below—no use."
But further remarks were prevented by the sudden glimmer of a light above. It was a light in the attic, not very bright, yet sufficiently so to show the opening through which their enemies were about to come.
The brigands had lighted a lamp!