I went to him. “Your wound, Strode?”
“Hush, don’t bother about it,” he answered. “It is only a graze on the shoulder. Now, what are these devils about?” he muttered, “I can’t see them, can you?”
Neither could I, so I went back to reconnoitre from the windows. At the back of the house, in what had been once the garden, a movement was perceptible. Men were stirring, but so cautiously that nothing more was to be made out. I told Strode of this, and he suggested my sending a shot or two at them.
“It can’t do any harm, with our stock of cartridges, and you might bring one of the brutes down, the Count for choice, if that isn’t too much to hope for.”
I returned to the window and promptly acted on this advice. My second shot I had reason to think took effect, for something like a smothered cry reached my ears. Then the Count’s voice gave an order, upon which, so far as I could see, four men made a stealthy rush towards the house.
“Look out!” I called to Strode. “They are upon us!”
He sprang back to the top of the stairs as I joined him. For some seconds we heard nothing; then a slight noise, a foot accidentally striking against some object, gave warning that the enemy was near. Strode waited a little, then cautiously leaned forward and sent down a shot. It was returned.
“Blaze away, man! They are on the stairs,” he cried; and we did blaze away into the unseen.
A dead silence followed. Peering round into the darkness we waited for the next move. Then we heard men stirring beneath. The slight noise of stealthy movement went on for some time; occasionally we could detect a whisper, that was all. Suddenly there came a glimmer of light, but it showed us nothing. Instead of dying away as I expected, it increased, and then we knew what we feared was about to happen.
“Are they firing the place?”