“You’ll have to take your chance below,” he said under his breath. “I’ll stand by you to the end.”
She smiled and continued on toward the stairs where the English agent stood. Neeland and the Russian girl followed her.
The agent said:
“There’s ’ell to pay below, sir.”
The depths of the house rang with the infernal din of blows falling on iron shutters. A deeper, more sinister roar rose from the mob outside. There was a struggle going on inside the building, too; Neeland could hear the trampling and surging of men on every floor—voices calling from room to room, shouts of anger, the terrible outcry of a man in agony.
“Wot a rat’s nest, then, there was in this here blessed ’ouse, sir!” said the British agent, coolly. “If we get Breslau and the others on the roof we’ve bagged ’em all.”
The Russian girl was trembling so violently that 383 Neeland took her by the arm. But Ilse Dumont, giving her a glance of contempt, moved calmly past the British agent to the head of the stairway.
“Come,” she said to Neeland.
The agent, leaning over the banisters, shouted to a man on the next floor:
“Look sharp below there! I’m sendin’ Miss Dumont down with Mr. Neeland, the American! Take her in charge, Bill!”