“Are you hit?”
“No,” I replied.
“I am,” he said, “but it is not much. We can’t hold this; the fun’s all right but too risky for the girl. We must take to the upper regions and chance it.”
He was slipping in fresh cartridges as he spoke. “Now,” he said, “bang away, and make a rush for it. Once up the stairs we are safe.”
Through the hanging smoke in the passage nothing could be seen. I sent a shot through it and made a spring for the stairs. Strode was on my heels; our fire was not returned, and we gained comparative safety. As we reached the landing we saw Asta rush back to the room in terror, locking the door.
“It is all right, Fräulein,” I cried. “We are both safe so far.”
At my voice the door was unfastened, and my love stood before me.
“Thank Heaven!” she said. “I have been nearly mad with fear. I felt sure all must be over with you both. It is terrible that you should go through all this for me.”
“Asta!” I whispered reproachfully. “It is only for you we fear, dearest.”
Strode had evidently heard her. “We like it,” he observed with a pre-occupied cheeriness, for he was hanging over the rails of the staircase keeping a sharp look-out. “It suits me exactly. If only we could get you, Fräulein, away snugly, it might go on till this time to-morrow, eh, Tyrrell?”