Across the dim belt of light from the open doorway in which they stood, crawled the dark figure of a man.  Her hand unconsciously touched his back as if seeking reassurance.

He shivered beneath its gentle weight.  Another form followed the first, pausing in the light to look toward their doorway.  The abductor was doubtless remembering the instructions to chloroform the Countess.  Then came the odor of chloroform.  Oh, if Anguish were only there!

The second figure was lost in the darkness and a faint glow of light came from the canopied bed in the corner The chloroformer holding the curtains had turned his screen-lantern, toward the pillow in order to apply the dampened cloth.  Now was the time to act!

Pushing the Princess behind the curtain and in the shelter of the door-post, Lorry leaped toward the center of the room, a pistol in each hand.  Before him crouched the astonished desperadoes.

“If you move you are dead men!” said he, in slow decided tones.  “Here, Harry!” he shouted.  “Scoundrels, you are trapped!  Throw up your hands!”

Suddenly the room was a blaze of light; flashing candles, lamps, sprung into life from the walls, while a great chandelier above his head dazzled him with its unexpected glare.

“Hell!” he shouted, half throwing his hands to his eyes.

Something rushed upon him from behind; there was a scream and then a stinging blow across the head and neck.  As he sank helplessly, angrily, to his knees he heard the Princess wail: 

“Dannox!  Do not strike again!  You have killed him!”

As he rolled to the floor he saw the two forms near the bed moving about like shadows:  two red objects that resembled dancing telegraph poles leaped past him from he knew not where, and then there was a shout, the report of a pistol, a horrid yell.  Something heavy crashed down beside him and writhed.  His eyes were closing, his senses were going, he was numb and sleepy.  Away off in the distance he heard Harry Anguish crying: 

“That settles you, damn you!”

Some one lifted his head from the carpet and a woman’s voice was crying something unintelligible.  He was conscious of an effort on his part to prevent the blood from streaming over her gown—­a last bit of gallantry.  The sound of rushing feet, shouts, firearms—­oblivion!

. . . . . . . . . . .

When Lorry regained consciousness, he blinked in abject amazement.  There was a dull, whirring sound in his ears, and his eyes had a glaze over them that was slow in wearing off.  There were persons in the room.  He could see them moving about and could hear them talking.  As his eyes tried to take in the strange surroundings, a hand was lifted from his forehead and a soft, dream-like voice said: 

“He is recovering, Mr. Anguish.  See, his eyes are open!  Do you know me, Mr. Lorry?”