With a last effort Simon flopped forward and rolled over; the Russian, thinking he had overcome his adversary, gave a guttural laugh and sprang on his chest — the laugh ended in a moan as Rex smashed his head in with a blow from the butt end of his pistol. The awful grip on Simon’s throat relaxed, and he crawled out from beneath the body.
The men below had lost no time in hurrying back when they heard the sounds of the struggle. De Richleau stood calmly above the prostrate Simon; he fired four times rapidly into their midst. There was a sharp cry; at least one of his shots had found a mark. The group scattered quickly; the Duke ducked down behind the wall as the return fire spattered about them.
“Give me a hand,” muttered Rex, and Simon helped to prop his late enemy in position against the wall. The appearance of the Russian’s head and shoulders drew a further volley from the bushes below; a bullet thudded into the man’s chest.
“Get his gun, Simon.” The Duke kicked the pistol that lay at the man’s feet. Simon picked it up quickly.
“See that window?” Rex whispered, pointing to the main block. “It’s level with these leads. Think we can make it?”
“Ner,” said Simon briefly, “it’s twenty yards away.”
“This cursed snow,” the Duke agreed; “they’ll see our every movement once we leave this wall.”
“Got to take a chance,” protested Rex. “If they storm the roof both ends of the wall we’re done. Once in that room we’ll hold ’em till daylight — or, better still, maybe we’ll be able to make a break from the window round the corner, across the garden.”
“Yes, I agree, we cannot stay here.” De Richleau peered round the wall. “I can see one fellow from here; I’ll kill him in a minute.”
Rex tapped him on the arm. “Wait — I’ll creep to the other end — see if I can spot another. When you hear me fire, give your bird the works and beat it. You, too, Simon, don’t wait for the Duke; go like smoke. Good luck, both of you!”
Before they could answer he had moved off down the gutter.
“No time to argue, Simon,” said the Duke, in a low tone, as he covered his man from where he crouched. “Don’t lose a second when I fire. If you’re not through that window when I get there, it may cost me my life.”
It seemed an eternity, waiting there in the intense cold; it numbed their fingers round the butts of the automatics. There was a sudden crash of shots from the garden, all directed to Rex’s end of the wall. Simon, whose nerves were at the highest pitch, leapt forward into the open. De Richleau’s pistol cracked behind him; in a second almost he was clambering through the empty window frame, the Duke hard behind him. A single bullet hissed through the snow on to the leads; another moment and De Richleau stood panting at his side.
“The fool!” he gasped; “did you see?”
“Ner — what happened?”
“He deliberately stood up to draw their fire.”
“Hope they didn’t get him.”
De Richleau put his head out of the window. A vicious “phut’ sounded in the woodwork near his head. He drew it in again sharply; Simon flashed his torch quickly round the empty room.
In addition to the window through which they had come there was another overlooking the terraces and gardens at the back of the house. “Lucky that wasn’t under the window.” As he spoke Simon shone his torch on a great jagged rent in the floor several feet in width.
“Put out that light!” whispered the Duke angrily.
Simon obeyed; carefully avoiding the hole, he made his way round to the doorway. There was no door, it had been wrenched off.
“Think they’ll come this way?” he asked.
“Too dangerous!” said the Duke, who was still peering out of the window as far as he dared. “They know we are armed — who would be brave enough to be first man round that doorway?”
A single shot rang out; a volley came from the bushes below in answer. De Richleau gave a sudden laugh. “Rex is all right,” he said; “at least, not dead; he may be wounded. How many shots have you in that pistol?”
Simon unclipped the magazine. “Five,” he said, after some hesitation.
“Good,” the Duke’s voice came back. “It is our turn to make a demonstration now. Stay where you are.”
Simon heard him shuffling round the room. Next moment De Richleau’s hand was on his arm.
“Is there a staircase leading below?” he asked. “One flash of your torch — no more; and hold it sideways, at arm’s length from your body.”
The little ray of light pierced the thick darkness, showing a landing outside the doorway and a narrow wooden staircase. Simon switched out the light and edged out of the room. For another brief moment he flashed it on; nothing was stirring.
“Let us go down,” said the Duke. “Keep as quiet as possible.”
Simon followed him; the wooden stairs creaked abominably. On the floor below the faint light from a broken window made the landing just perceptible.
“We are in luck,” De Richleau murmured. In the dark, Simon could sense from his tone that he was smiling. It came to him suddenly that the Duke was actually enjoying this nightmare. Once free, and with a weapon in his hands, it seemed that he had none of Simon’s desire to slip away, to run, to be safe again; to do anything, short of deserting his friends, in order to get out of range of these smashing, tearing bullets, that made men gulp, or scream with pain.
“See,” the Duke went on, “this window will serve us admirably; from here we can survey the front. I shall fire one shot into those bushes there. You take the right-hand flash as they reply; aim for it and fire three rounds, then duck. I shall fire as I choose, but the right-hand flash is yours; you understand? And no more than three shots. Are you ready?”
“Um,” said Simon, nodding in the dark. “Go ahead.”
De Richleau fired; a burst of shooting answered him at once; eight men at least must have been lurking in the shadows below. One was almost directly beneath the window, less than ten feet away. Simon let fly at him, leaning out to do so. There was a scream of pain at his second shot — then the Duke wrenched him back by the neck, so that his third shot went into the air.
“Are you mad,” De Richleau shouted, “to lean out so?”
“Sorry,” said Simon humbly; “I got him, though!”
“You did,” said the Duke dryly; “it is only by the providence of Heaven that he did not get you! Have you never been in a fight before?”
“Ner,” said Simon nervously. “Ner — never.”
A sudden thud sounded in the room above, accompanied by a fresh burst of firing from the garden. “Rex,” said De Richleau quickly; “let us go up.”
The stairs creaked and groaned as they reascended; the Duke paused on the upper landing.
“You all right, Rex?” asked Simon, stepping forward.
The Duke jerked him back.
“I’m fine,” came a reassuring voice from the lesser darkness by the window. “Thank God,” said the Duke, releasing his grip on Simon’s arm. “For a moment I feared it might be one of them. Mind that infernal hole.”
“Great stuff you gave ’em just now,” Rex went on. “I got across without so much as a farewell wave.”
“Listen,” said the Duke. “I propose that we should try the garden at the back — the stairs are free.”
“That’s O.K. But where’ll we make for when we get there?”
“To Marie Lou. Did she get horses? Are they at her cottage?”
“She did not. Her hick farmer friends had been given the wire about us; they wouldn’t sell.”