A crackle of burning wood gave the answer; the light increased and spread. The danger now was critical.
“We can’t stand this,” I said. “The old place will burn like matchwood. We must make a rush for it.”
Strode muttered something between his teeth—a not very flattering comment on Count Furello and his methods.
“If we hadn’t to think of her,” he said, jerking his head towards the room with the closed door, “we could sally out and meet these beasts, taking our chance. But with her we can’t. Stay here, while I go and see what I can do. Nonsense! I’m the man to take the risk, not you.” For I had begun to hold him back and demur.
He threw me off and crept down the stairs. He stayed looking over the rail for a while, then came back to me.
“I think,” he said, “with fair luck I can put the fire out. There’s not much alight, and our friends seem to have drawn off to see the fun. One chap is lying dead down there, so what with the others we’ve peppered there can’t be many left. Anyway, if I come across them there will be at least one fewer, if next moment is my last. I’m no good, so don’t bother about me. Think of the girl; it is our duty to get her out of this at any cost.”
So saying, he stole down again. At the bottom of the staircase he stayed a moment, then, darting forward, disappeared from my sight. Next I heard a banging, as though he were trying to beat out the flames; then two pistol shots in rapid succession, followed by a laugh of exultation from Strode. Doubtful whether this should betoken good luck or bad, I called down to know if he was all right.
“Very much all right!” was the cheering answer. “I guess we’re safe now.”
On that I ventured to leave my post, and ran down to him. He was kicking and stamping out the remains of the nearly extinguished fire. The old wood-work had been set alight in several places, and the door was half consumed.
“I don’t fancy the Herr Graf will trouble us much more to-night,” he laughed. “Pity I missed him, though. Anyhow I put a bullet through some tender part of that other scoundrel’s anatomy, if howling goes for anything. I say! Our pot-shots have gone home much better than we could have hoped. Strikes me we’ve tucked up most of them.”