Paul reached his chamber by the light of an ancient oil-lamp held aloft by a servant—a hulking chap of somewhat forbidding appearance. Baxter had already prepared Paul's room for the night and was not waiting for his master. Paul said good-night to his attendant, and had turned his back upon the man—when he heard a shout which appeared to come from the hall below. He stopped short and turned—a movement which he always thought afterward must have saved his life—to receive a glancing, though still a stunning blow, from the butt of a revolver.
Like a log, Paul fell with a crash that shook the room, and knew no more.
Paul was right. The shout did come from below. It was Peter's voice that had sent out that alarming cry.
Paul, it seems, had been gone but a few minutes, when the door of the great hall was flung open and a half-dozen men burst in. It was then that Peter gave a great shout to alarm the household, and in response to which a handful of servants rushed in, Alexander Andrieff, the red-bearded overseer, among them.
All the men were masked, not only their foreheads, but their faces right down to their chins being hidden in black.
The man who led them stepped forward and ordered the servants back; and they retreated.
A couple of armed and masked men sufficed to keep the few domestics penned in the corner. Two others were stationed on the stairs to check any advances in that direction, while two others kept the passages closed against all further comers.
At the head of the intruders the leader walked swiftly towards Peter, who had advanced to meet him.
"Get back, Peter Vseslavitch," said the leader, still in a pleasant and easy voice; "get back, or I will not answer for your life."