The door creaked loudly as
she drew it forward. Possibly Martin heard the noise, for a moment later
he shouted, and he and Crosby rushed on to the landing.
"Into the room, mistress," Martin whispered, as he swung the door to and
shot the bolt. "It won't hold long, but long enough." Then he followed
them quickly into his room and locked the door.
Two men lay on the narrow stairs grievously hurt, and there was blood
flowing from a cut on the face of another man as he threw himself
against the door at the top, bent on settling a score rather than taking
a rebel. He cursed and called to those below him.
"It is a small matter," said Rosmore. "It shuts us out, but it shuts
them in."
"The door will not take much breaking down," said Sir John; "the rot of
years must be in it."
There was some delay while a heavy bar was found with which to attack
the door, and a light to see by. The door at the head of the stairs soon
yielded, but that of the room was another matter. It was of stout oak,
and Sir John seemed to think that Martin might be persuaded to open it.
"Martin! Martin!" he called, knocking as he did so. There was movement
within, but no answer.
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