Simon wasted no more, but thrust up his hands. “Don’t grip the roof, it may give,” whispered Rex. He gripped Simon’s wrists and hauled him up. There was a slithering noise, a slight scrape, and he was through.
The Duke looked apprehensively towards the door — surely the guard had heard. Two laths had cracked with a dry snap. He lost no time, but mounted the stone copper — Rex could not have reached him on the floor; by leaning forward his hands would be within a few inches of the hole.
“Make it snappy,” whispered Rex, thrusting his arms down from above. The Duke leaned forward and grasped them firmly, then he swung off the copper. As he did so there was a crash of falling masonry — the cement that held the top row of bricks round the copper had long perished — De Richleau’s boot had brought them rumbling to the floor.
Instantly the door swung open. Lantern in one hand, pistol in the other, the Mongolian rushed in. The Duke found himself hanging, suspended, looking right into that cruel, hare-lipped face. The man dived for him. The Duke kicked out, his boot took the soldier on the upper part of his right arm; the man staggered back, dropping his gun.
“Pull, Rex, pull!” shouted the Duke, but to his horror he found that Rex had let go one of his hands. He dangled by one arm, revolving slowly.
The Mongolian did not stop to find his pistol; he flung himself on the Duke. De Richleau found himself being dragged down, the bestial face was within an inch of his own.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash, and a terrific report within an inch of his ear that almost shattered the drum; the man sagged and slipped backwards with a horrible choking sound. Rex had shot him at close range through the upper mouth.
The next thing the Duke knew was that he was out in the cold air of the roof; Rex and Simon were on each side of him, dragging him from one level to another. There was the sound of running feet, and lanterns could be seen below. A sudden shout — a shot, a bullet whistled past his head, and then the shooting began in earnest.
XVII — The Fight on the Roof-tops
A hail of bullets spattered the brickwork against which they had been standing a moment before.