The pain of the slight wound promptly altered my intentions.  Instead of leaving the gallery, I sprang forward to the balustrade.  Whipping my revolver out at last, I aimed deliberately and fired; whereupon I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Schwartzmann rock, struggle, apparently regain his equilibrium, and then suddenly crumple up and pitch headlong down the stairs.

Below, Blenheim and his friend were extricating themselves from that blessed table.  I passed through the door and thrust it shut and shot the bolts.  We were safe for the present.  I could not see Miss Falconer, nor did she speak to me; but her hand groped for my arm and rested there, and I covered it with one of mine.

Then, as we stood contentedly drawing breath, we heard steps mounting the staircase.  Some one struck a vicious blow against the heavy door.  Blenheim’s voice, hoarse and muffled, reached us through the panels.

“Can you hear me there?” it asked.

If tones could kill!  I summoned breath enough to answer with cheerful coolness.

“Every syllable,” I responded.  “What did you wish to say?”

“Just this.”  He was panting, either with exhaustion or fury, and there were slow, labored pauses between his words.  “I will give you half an hour, exactly, to come out—­with the papers.  After that we will break the door down.  And then you can say your prayers.”

CHAPTER XXII

THE GUEST OF PREZELAY

The sanctuary into which we had stumbled was as black as Erebus save for one dimly grayish patch, which, I surmised, meant a window.  When those heavy feet had clumped down the staircase, silence enveloped us again, beatific silence.  Instantly I banished the late Mr. Van Blarcom from my consciousness.  With a good stout door between us what importance had his threats?

The truth was that my blood was singing through my veins and my spirits were soaring.  I would gladly have stood there forever, triumphant in the dark, with Miss Falconer’s soft, warm fingers trembling a little, but lying in contented, almost cosy, fashion under mine.  Had there ever been such a girl, at once so sweet and so daring?  To think how she had waited for me all through that battle below!

A little breathless murmur came to me through the darkness.

“Oh, Mr. Bayne!  You were so wonderful!  How am I ever going to thank you?” was what it said.

“You needn’t.  Let me thank you for letting me in on it!” I exulted happily.  “I give you my word, I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in years.  It was all a hallucination, of course; but it was jolly while it lasted.  I was only worried every instant for fear the hall and the men would vanish, like an Arabian Nights’ palace or the Great Horn Spoon or Aladdin’s jinn!”

Very gently she withdrew her fingers, and my mood toppled ludicrously.  Why had I been rejoicing?  We were in the deuce of a mess!  So far I had simply won a half hour’s respite to be followed by the deluge; for if Blenheim had been ruthless before, what were his probable intentions now?