“Guard these men, Dean,” cried Fleck, as with Carter close at his side he dashed into the fray.

One man already lay senseless outside, eight had surrendered.  Four had fled to the front of the house.  That left only the two Hoffs and one other man against five of them.  It was Fleck’s intention to try to overpower the trio before the four who had fled returned to aid them.  Jane, amazed at her own coolness, stood beside Dean, her revolver out, helping him guard the prisoners.

Frederic all the while had been standing by his uncle’s side, strangely enough appearing to take little interest or part in the battle.  Old Otto, though, despite his years, was fighting with vigor enough to require both the work of Fleck and Carter to subdue him.  Vainly he struggled to wrench himself free from their grasp and use his revolver again.  Fleck’s strength pulling loose his fingers from the weapon was too much for him.  As he felt himself being disarmed, in a frenzy he tore himself loose from both of them and seizing a chair, swung it with all his strength against the hanging lamp above the table that supplied the only light in the room.

In an instant the room was in darkness.  The four from the front, rushing back to aid their comrades in answer to old Otto’s cries, found themselves unable to distinguish friend from foe.  Fleck’s men dared not use their weapons in the darkness.  Back and forth through the room the opposing forces struggled, the air thick with cries and muttered oaths, the sound of blows making strange medley with the rapid shuffling of feet.

Jane, remembering the electric torch that had been carried by the man Carter had struck down, felt her way to the door and retrieved it from his senseless fingers.  Returning, she flashed it about the room, endeavoring to assist Fleck by its light.  As she let the beam fall on Frederic she heard a muttered curse at her side and turned to see Thomas Dean aiming his revolver directly at the younger Hoff.  With a quick movement she thrust up his arm, and the bullet buried itself in the wall above his head.

“What are you trying to do,” snapped Dean; “help that damned spy to escape?”

“He wasn’t trying to escape,” she angrily retorted.  “Look—­quick—­mind your prisoners.”

He turned just in time to see the Germans behind him lowering their arms.  In another second they would have been on his back.  At the sight of his brandished revolver, their arms were quickly raised again.

Meanwhile Fleck’s men, guided by Jane’s light, were laying about them with their rifles clubbed.  The plotters were at a disadvantage in not realizing how few there were in the attacking party.  Fleck’s announcement that the house was surrounded had both deceived and disheartened them.  When three of their number had been knocked senseless to the floor the others surrendered and joined the group that stood with hands up.

To Fleck’s amazement it was Frederic Hoff who led in the surrender.