"Can you hit anything?"
"Yes."
"To be depended on?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's darned lucky. How long will that door hold?"
They were both in the little passage by now, pressed close together, listening to the furtive pick, pick, of some one at the lock.
"I don't think it will hold more than a minute."
"Now, look here," he said, "I shall go and stand at the foot of the stair, and knife the second man, if there is a second. The first man I'll leave to you. There's a bit of light outside from the snow. He'll let in enough light to see him by as he opens the door. Don't wait. Fire at him as he comes in, and don't stop; go on firing at him till he drops. You've got six bullets. Don't you make any mistake and shoot me. I've had enough of that already. Now, you look carefully where I'm going to stand and when I'm there you put out the lamp."
He spoke to her as a man does to his comrade.
That she could be frightened did not seem to enter his calculations. He moved with cat-like stealth to the foot of the tiny staircase, and flattened himself against the wall. Then he stretched his left arm once or twice as if to make sure of it, licked the haft of the knife, and nodded at her.