She instantly put out the lamp.
All was dark save for a faint thread of light which outlined the door. Across the thread something moved once—twice. The sound of picking ceased. Then another sound succeeded it, a new one, unlike the last, as if something was being gently prized open, wrenched.
"The bar will hold," she said to herself; and then remembered for the first time that the rung into which the bar slid had been loose these many days. It was giving now.
It had given!
The door opened silently, and a man came in.
For a moment she saw him clear with the accomplice snowlight behind him. She did not hesitate. She shot once and again. He fell, and struggled violently up, and she shot again. He fell, and dragged himself to his knees, and she shot again. Then he sank gently and slowly down, as if tired, with his face against the wall, and moved no more.
The man on the stairs rushed out and looked through the open door.
"By G——! he was single-handed," he said.
Then he stooped over the prostrate man, and turned him over on his back.
"Dead!" he said, chuckling. "Well done, missus! Stone dead!"