"Not yet, sir," was the answer.
"Well, hunt for him. Now, we'll go up and find Claire. Major, can you climb the rest of the stairs? Help him, Duval."
I experienced no great difficulty, my strength coming back rapidly. There was a wounded Dragoon leaning against the wall, and half-way down the hall lay another body, face down. Without doubt this was the guard Fagin had stationed there. Duval paused to help the wounded man, but Farrell and I moved on across the dead guard to the open door beyond. Colonel Mortimer, unable to move, was propped up on his pillow, one hand grasping a pistol. With shaking arm he levelled it at us.
"Who are you? Quick, now!" he quavered. "I've shot one, and I'm good for more."
"You know me, Colonel," and Farrell stepped inside. "I am 'Bull' Farrell; this is Major Lawrence." He looked at us with dull eyes, his hand falling weakly.
"Farrell—Farrell—surely, the blacksmith. What Lawrence? The—the officer Claire knows?"
"Yes; he's a rough-looking object I admit, but there has been a fight down below, sir, in which he had a share. We've just cleaned out Red Fagin's gang. We came up here to tell the good news to you and your daughter."
The Colonel's head sank back upon the mussed pillow.
"My daughter—Claire—she is not here."
"Not here!" I cried, aroused by the admission. "Did she not return to you?"