He said it with something like a shiver. For these men, as Sonya had told him, were thugs, ex-convicts, and many indeed had been taken directly from prison and forgiven their robbery or murder on condition that they undertake this service; and all were big, bold, merciless men.
The fist again pounded. “Open that door!” roared the captain.
The four said not a word.
The next instant the door creaked and bent under the impact of heavy shoulders. And in the same instant Freeman’s pistol spat twice into the thin panels. There was a sharp cry.
“Come—try it again!” taunted the terrorist.
There was again silence without. “They’re planning some new attack,” said Sonya.
They were—and it came the next moment. In the room on their right a window crashed. Freeman flung open the door and saw a burly figure scrambling through the broken sash. Again his pistol flashed. The gendarme went sprawling on the floor and did not move.
“Come on—more of you!” shouted Freeman in savage joy.
None of the gendarmes accepted the challenge to enter, but a bullet did and tore off half an ear. The terrorist did not flinch; but as the pistol flashed without, he fired at the flash. There was a cry of pain.
He stepped to one side, out of range, but kept his pistol levelled at the window. “One more!” he called. With his lean, sardonic face, his lips curling away from his white teeth, he looked half devil.