"When the next volley comes," he said, "I'll smash the panel."With the bar raised high, his muscles on a strain, he stood alert and poised, waiting for a shot from the room below to call forth an answering volley from the house-tops. But no sound came from below.
And the sharp-shooters, waiting for the madmen to expose themselves, held their fire.
Ford's muscles relaxed, and he lowered his weapon. He turned his eyes inquiringly to the girl. "What's THIS mean?" he demanded.
Unconsciously his voice had again dropped to a whisper.
"They're short of ammunition," said the girl, in a tone as low as his own; "or they are coming HERE."With a peremptory gesture, Ford waved her toward the room adjoining and then ran to the window.
The girl was leaning forward with her face close to the door. She held the finger of one hand to her lips. With the other hand she beckoned. Ford ran to her side.
"Some one is moving in the hall," she whispered. "Perhaps they are escaping by the roof? No, "she corrected herself. "They seem to be running down the stairs again. Now they are coming back. Do you hear?" she asked. " It sounds like some one running up and down the stairs. What can it mean?"From the direction of the staircase Ford heard a curious creaking sound as of many light footsteps. He gave a cry of relief.
"The police!" he shouted jubilantly. "They've entered through the roof, and they're going to attack in the rear. You're SAFE!" he cried.
He sprang away from the door and, with two swinging blows, smashed the broad panel. And then, with a cry, he staggered backward. Full in his face, through the break he had made, swept a hot wave of burning cinders. Through the broken panel he saw the hall choked with smoke, the steps of the staircase and the stair-rails wrapped in flame.
"The house is on fire!" he cried. "They've taken to the roof and set fire to the stairs behind them!" With the full strength of his arms and shoulders he struck and smashed the iron bar against the door. But the bolts held, and through each fresh opening he made in the panels the burning cinders, drawn by the draft from the windows, swept into the room. From the street a mighty yell of consternation told them the fire had been discovered. Miss Dale ran to the window, and the yell turned to a great cry of warning. The air was rent with frantic voices. "Jump!" cried some. "Go back!"entreated others. The fire chief ran into the street directly below her and shouted at her through his hands. "Wait for the life- net!"he commanded. "Wait for the ladders!"
"Ladders!" panted Ford. "Before they can get their engines through that mob----"Through the jagged opening in the door he thrust his arm and jerked free the upper bolt. An instant later he had kicked the lower panel into splinters and withdrawn the second bolt, and at last, under the savage onslaught of his iron bar, the spring lock flew apart.
The hall lay open before him. On one side of it the burning staircase was a well of flame; at his feet, the matting on the floor was burning fiercely. He raced into the bedroom and returned instantly, carrying a blanket and a towel dripping with water. He pressed the towel across the girl's mouth and nostrils. "Hold it there!" he commanded. Blinded by the bandage, Miss Dale could see nothing, but she felt herself suddenly wrapped in the blanket and then lifted high in Ford's arms. She gave a cry of protest, but the next instant he was running with her swiftly while the flames from the stair-well scorched her hair. She was suddenly tumbled to her feet, the towel and blanket snatched away, and she saw Ford hanging from an iron ladder holding out his hand. She clasped it, and he drew her after him, the flames and cinders pursuing and snatching hungrily.
But an instant later the cold night air smote her in the face, from hundreds of hoarse throats a yell of welcome greeted her, and she found herself on the roof, dazed and breathless, and free.
At the same moment the lifting fire-ladder reached the sill of the third-story window, and a fireman, shielding his face from the flames, peered into the blazing room. What he saw showed him there were no lives to rescue. Stretched on the floor, with their clothing in cinders and the flames licking at the flesh, were the bodies of the two murderers.
A bullet-hole in the forehead of each showed that self- destruction and cremation had seemed a better choice than the gallows and a grave of quick-lime.
On the roof above, two young people stood breathing heavily and happily, staring incredulously into each other's eyes. Running toward them across the roofs, stumbling and falling, were many blue-coated, helmeted angels of peace and law and order.
"How can I tell you?" whispered the girl quickly. "How can I ever thank you? And I was angry," she exclaimed, with self- reproach. "Idid not understand you." She gave a little sigh of content. "Now Ithink I do."
He took her hand, and she did not seem to know that he held it.
"And," she cried, in wonder, "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME!"The young man seemed to have lost his confidence. For a moment he was silent. "The name's all right!" he said finally. His voice was still a little shaken, a little tremulous. "I only hope you'll like it. It's got to last you a long time!"
