It
was Gilbert Crosby; he did not know every stone as Martin did. He was on
his feet again directly, but the advantage had been lost. Barbara went
down a little farther until she was just hidden by the first bend in the
stairs. There was the sudden clash of steel, and a pistol-shot rang out
upon the night. All was confusion in the doorway just below her. Then
two men came up slowly, and backwards, thrusting downwards as they came,
and more than one groan told that the steel had done its work.
"Be ready to rush when I give the word," Martin whispered; "then, at the
top, make a stand--we must close the door there somehow."
The stairs were too narrow for two men to fight side by side. Martin
was a step or two below his companion, and it was no longer a fiddle bow
which he held in his hand. It was doubtful whether he had ever used his
bow so well as he used a sword to-night.
Barbara leaned down.
"I am here, Mr. Crosby. I came to warn you," she whispered. "I know the
door. Tell Martin."
She went up quickly. The clamp which held the door back at the head of
the stairs was stiff, but with her weight thrown against the woodwork to
ease the pressure she managed to unfasten it.
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