plucked violently at his cloak below his knees.  Wogan had not recovered from his lunge; the jerk at the cloak threw him off his balance, his legs slipped forward under him, in another moment he would have come crashing down the stairs upon his back, and at the bottom of the flight there stood one man absolutely unharmed supporting his comrade who had been wounded in the throat.  Wogan felt the jerk, understood the danger, and saw its remedy at the same instant.  He did not resist the impetus, he threw his body into it, he sprang from the stairs forwards, tearing his cloak from the leader’s hands, he sprang across the leader, across the soldier who had fired at him, and he dropped with all his weight into the arms of the third man with the pierced throat.  The blood poured out from the wound over Wogan’s face and breast in a blinding jet.  The fellow uttered one choking cry and reeling back carried the comrade who supported him against the balustrade at the turn of the stairs.  Wogan did not give that fourth man time to disengage himself, but dropping his sword caught him by the throat as the third wounded man slipped between them to the ground.  Wogan bent his new opponent backwards over the balustrade, and felt the muscles of his back resist and then slacken.  Wogan bent him further and further over until it seemed his back must break.  But it was the balustrade which broke.  Wogan heard it crack.  He had just time to loose his hands and step back, and the railing and the man poised on the rail fell outwards into the courtyard.  Wogan stepped forward and peered downwards.  The soldier had not broken his neck, for Wogan saw him writhe upon the ground.  He bent his head to see the better; he heard a report behind him, and a bullet passed through the crown of his hat.  He swung round and saw the leader of the four with one of his own pistols smoking in his hand.

“You!” cried Wogan.  “Sure, here’s a rabbit attacking a terrier dog;” and he sprang up the stairs.  The man threw away the pistol, fell on his knees, and held up his hands for mercy.

“Now what will I do to you?” said Wogan.  “Did you not fire at my back?  That’s reprehensible cowardice.  And with my own pistol, too, which is sheer impertinence.  What will I do with you?” The man’s expression was so pitiable, his heavy cheeks hung in such despairing folds, that Wogan was stirred to laughter.  “Well, you have put me to a deal of inconvenience,” said he; “but I will be merciful, being strong, being most extraordinary strong.  I’ll send you back to your master the Emperor with a message from me that four men are no manner of use at all.  Come in here for a bit.”