The Path to Honour

by Sydney C. Grier

"Quite so. Well, shall we wait and trip him up?"

"No, he will hear—guess we are there. We can't stay all night looking for him in the dark." Gerrard spoke roughly, fighting down the horror of such a watch as he suggested, and Charteris yielded, recognising that his friend's nerves were dangerously strained.

"I should have preferred to make our rear safe, but he will hardly venture to attack us single-handed. Give me the lantern, old boy, and you lead for a bit."

Shamefacedly Gerrard obeyed, realising that the dread of a stealthy step behind had not for Charteris the paralyzing terror it had for him, and they groped their way on, trying to assure one another that the sounds which reached them when they paused were merely the echoes of their own movements. At length a very faint glimmer became visible far in front, and they crept towards it. It seemed to come from a doorway on the left-hand side of the passage, and co-ordinating their former knowledge of the place with the distance they had now come, they saw that it must proceed from the open door of the secret treasury. Creeping up to this with the utmost precaution, they paused for a moment in the shadow to reconnoitre. The light came from a dim lamp in the middle of the room, round which they could discern the sleeping forms of several men—five or six, perhaps, but their mufflings made it difficult to distinguish them clearly. One rather removed from the rest, and lying on a charpoy instead of the floor, was evidently Sher Singh himself. Charteris put the lantern deliberately into his pocket, and drawing swords and revolvers, he and Gerrard stepped into the doorway.

"Your Highness is tracked! Surrender!" were the words that pealed into the room and roused the sleepers.

"Maharaj, fear not! There are but two Feringhees here!" cried another voice from behind, and instantly the man nearest to the lamp threw a quilt over it. There was a clash of arms as the men roused from sleep seized the weapons they had laid beside them, but through it Gerrard's ear detected another sound, a grinding noise on the floor, coming from behind. He recognised it at once; it was the grating of the turning-stone as it closed. The man who had tracked them and given the alarm was cutting off their retreat. Gerrard turned mechanically, and putting out his hand, felt the stone beginning to fill the doorway behind him. Stooping, he groped for the stone doorpost, and snatching off his cap, thrust it across the corner where the outer edge of the doorpost met the floor. The cap was iron-framed, and padded to turn a sword-cut, and he heard the stone grate more harshly, then stick, so that at least he and Charteris were not imprisoned without hope of release. As he rose, he was aware of a muttered exclamation of disgust from the other side of the door, and guessed that the man who had set the stone turning had found that it would not shut.

"Shoulder to shoulder, Hal!" said Charteris sharply. The moment so full of thought and action for Gerrard had for him been filled only with intensest listening for every movement of the enemies in front, and he had no idea of the foe behind. Something struck the edge of the doorpost as it passed through the slit left open, and Gerrard fired at the sound. Charteris jumped forward a little as the point of a long dagger grazed his shoulder, and the noise of the shot was followed by a choking cry in the passage.

"Thanks, old boy. Ready, watch!" Charteris took the lantern from his pocket, and flashed it slowly round. Gerrard had a momentary impression of shining weapons and gleaming eyeballs, all apparently petrified into immobility by the sudden illumination. Before the enemy could take advantage of the light to spring, he had snatched the lantern from Charteris's hand, and set it on a little stone bracket, evidently left for some such purpose, above the doorway, so that the two Englishmen were in shadow, while their opponents were clearly visible.

"Now, Bob, back to back!" he cried.

Three of the armed men in front made at them at once, while Sher Singh and the others conferred in the background. Neither Gerrard nor Charteris had time to do more than notice this ominous confabulation, for their adversaries gave them plenty of work. They were as agile as cats, and the chance was small indeed of getting in a telling blow. One man went down with a bullet from Gerrard's revolver in his brain, but his place was instantly taken by one of those at the back, and the next few minutes saw several shots wasted. Suddenly another sound than the clash of arms struck on Gerrard's ear—the grinding noise made by the turning-stone. He had barely time to shout a warning to Charteris before a shot, sounding like the report of a cannon in the confined space, smashed and extinguished the lantern, and at the same moment two hands grasped his ankles and threw him into the middle of the floor, with Charteris—as he guessed by the clatter of a revolver on the ground—upon him.