"It's--that--that--Russian girl!" stammered Ilse Dumont; "--The girl I
locked in! Oh, my God!--my God! Karl Breslau is killing her!"
Neeland sprang into the hall and leaped up the stairs; but the three
men disguised as waiters had arrived before him.
And there, across the threshold of the bedroom, backed up flat against
the shattered door, Ali Baba was already fighting for his life; and
the frightened Russian girl crept out from the bedroom behind him and
ran to Neeland for protection.
Twice Neeland aimed at Ali Baba, but could not bring himself to fire
at the bleeding, rabid object which snarled and slavered and bit and
kicked, regardless of the blows raining on him. At last one of his
assailants broke the half demented creature's arm with a chair; and
the bloody, battered thing squeaked like a crippled rat and darted
away amid the storm of blows descending, limping and floundering up
the attic stairs, his broken arm flapping with every gasping bound.
After him staggered his sweating and exhausted assailants, reeling
past Neeland and Ilse Dumont and the terrified Russian girl who
crouched behind them. But, halfway up the stairs all three halted and
stood clinging to the banisters as though listening to something on
the floor above them.
Neeland heard it, too: from the roof came a ripping, splintering
sound, as though people on the slates were prying up the bolted
scuttle. The three men on the stairs hesitated a moment longer; then
turned to flee, too late; a hail of pistol shots swept the attic
stairs; all three men came pitching and tumbling down to the landing.
Two of them lay still; one rose immediately and limped on again down
the hallway, calling over the banisters to those below: "The Germans on the leads 'ave busted into the garret! Breslau is up
'ere! Send along those American gunmen, or somebody what can shoot!"
He was a grey-haired Englishman, smooth shaven and grim; and, as he
stood there at the head of the further stairs, breathing heavily,
awaiting aid from below, he said to Neeland coolly enough: "You'd better go below, sir. We 'ad our orders to take this Breslau
rat alive, but we can't do it now, and there's like to be a 'orrid
mess 'ere directly."
"Can we get through below?"
"You can," said the man significantly, "but they'll be detaining one
o' them ladies at the door."
"Do you mean me?" said Ilse Dumont.
"Yes, ma'am, I do----"
She sprang toward the attic stairway, but the British agent whipped
out a pistol and covered her.
"No," he said grimly. "You're wanted below. Go down!"
She came slowly back to where Neeland was standing.
"You'll have to take your chance below," he said under his breath.
"I'll stand by you to the end."