"No; they came for her to go down stairs—a tall man with a black beard, and two others. They took her away an hour ago, and I have seen nothing of her since. I—heard the shots, the sound of fierce fighting, but could not move from the bed. Tell me, Major, what has become of my little girl?"
"I do not know," I confessed, gazing about in bewilderment. "She came up the stairs, I am sure. It was just as the fight began, and I had scarcely a moment to observe anything before we were at it fiercely. She shot Fagin down, and then ran."
"Shot Fagin! Claire!"
"Yes; she was justified. Had she not acted so quickly I would have done so myself. He was forcing her into marriage."
"Into marriage! With whom?"
"Captain Grant," I answered passionately. "It was a deliberate plot, although he pretended to be innocent, and a helpless prisoner. Later the man fought with the outlaws against us; after Jones was killed he even assumed command."
"He has been hand and glove with those fellows from the first, Colonel," chimed in Farrell hoarsely. "I've known it, and told Lawrence so a month ago. I only hope he was killed down below. But what can have become of Claire?"
"She never passed along here," insisted Mortimer, "for I haven't taken my eyes from that door."
"Then she is hiding somewhere in those front rooms. Come on, Lawrence, and we'll search them."
We went out hurriedly, leaving the wounded man lying helplessly on the bed, and stepped carelessly across the dead sentinel lying in the hallway. The memory of Peter recurred to me. He was not the kind to desert his mistress at such a time. Stopping Farrell, I stepped back to inquire. The Colonel opened his eyes wearily at sound of my voice.