CHAPTER XXIII

OUR BACKS TO THE WALL

Hilmi Bey bowed us out, his smirk more tigerish than ever. It seemed to us that he had a perfect right to enjoy our departure. We felt that we had come off distinctly second-best.

"Score for them," remarked Hugh, as we shook the dust of the Rue Midhat Pasha from our shoes. "We're chivvied, dished."

"They won't do it," I objected. "And if they did, it wouldn't get them anywhere."

"You're right," assented Hugh. "But there's the delay. This is expensive, Jack, and we can't hang on forever. If we could wear them out, why—"

"You are both wrong!" exclaimed Nikka energetically. "You must remember that you are in Constantinople. Things don't happen here as they do in Europe."

"Constantinople is in Europe," I objected—and promptly felt like the fool the remark demonstrated me to be.

Nikka favored me with a withering glance of contempt.

"We are not talking in terms of geography, but of human nature," he said. "This is the Orient. You ought to realize that, Jack, after what you have seen with me. And in the Orient, and especially in Turkey, such a graft deal as Hilyer made with Mahkouf Pasha would not excite any interest, much less condemnation. It's the regular thing."

"You forget the Allied High Commissioners," interjected King.

"No, I don't. They can go only just so far. Their position is delicate enough, without imperiling their prestige by interfering in what would be strictly a question of Turkish internal government. They'd know that a windfall such as this treasure would be used simply to further Pan-Islamic intrigue and bolster the coffers of the Nationalist Government at Angora. But for that very reason they wouldn't be able to interfere. I tell you, it would be the height of bad luck for us if the struggle for the treasure took on a political tinge. It would be fatal. We might as well pack up, and go home."

"Guess you're right," assented Hugh thoughtfully. "It looks as though we were pocketed.'

"What puzzles me is why they didn't try something like this before," continued Nikka. "I fancy they wanted to be very sure of their man first."

"Surely, they won't have told him!" protested King.

"Who? Mahkouf? Oh, no. They're too wise. No. they've simply explained to him the general proposition and arranged tentative terms. They won't trust him any farther than they have to."

"Is it your idea that we've got to accept their offer?" asked Hugh.

"It's my idea that we've got to use our wits, and act quickly," said Nikka.

"But you can't trust them," I cried. "Hélène as much as told you so. We'd get the stuff out—"

"If it's there," Hugh reminded me.

"—if it's there, then, and they would think nothing of jumping us, either by force or by some damned trick."

"They might even stage a fake hold-up on the part of a Government agency," Nikka added cheerfully.

"In plain language, their proposition is: heads we win tails you lose," said Hugh.

"Yes, supposing you permit them to take the lead from your hands," agreed Nikka. "However, I am reminded of a memorable address I was once privileged to listen to as a soldier of the Legion. A general named Foch read us a citation, and then told us how to go on winning more. 'I have noticed,' he said, 'that it is the soldier who attacks who wins battles. The initiative is the price of victory. Never permit your foe to assume the initiative. Attack! Always attack!'"

"True," assented Hugh. "And we've been able to stall their gang so far by taking the initiative."

"But if we can't?" inquired King. "Optimism is all right, but—"

"Optimism is all we've got," interrupted Nikka. "We have our backs to the wall. This is the time to fight, if fighting will get us anywhere."

"If it will!" echoed Hugh.

"That's what we have to decide," said Nikka. "You can't work out a problem like this in the street."

We walked the remainder of the distance to the hotel at a breakneck gait. As we entered the lobby one of the clerks came from the office and accosted Hugh.

"Your messenger would not wait, milord," he said. "Mees King had not returned. Indeed, she has not yet returned."

"My messenger?" repeated Hugh, with a startled look at us.

"Yes, milord. He said he must see her. When I told heem she had gone out he left your letter for her, weeth instructions that I present it so soon as she came in."

Hugh's face creased into grim lines.

"Very well. As long as she has not yet returned, I will take it back."

The clerk went to the mail-desk, and plucked an envelope from Betty's letter-box. Hugh thanked him, and turned it over in his hand. It was addressed in an extraordinarily scrawling hand to "Miss King." In the lower left-hand corner was written: "By messenger."

"But it looks nothing like your handwriting," exclaimed King. "I am at a loss to comprehend how persons so adroit as our opponents have demonstrated themselves to be could hope to secure success by means of such a shallow trick."

"We'll see," returned Hugh brusquely, slitting the envelope. "I have a notion this is the other ace Hilyer bragged about."

The envelope held a single sheet of paper. On it was written in the same scrawling hand:

"Dear Bet:

"I've broken my arm, which explains this abominable writing. I never could do anything with my left hand. Don't worry, I shall be fit in no time. Can you come with the bearer, or if that is not convenient, with Watkins, to the house in Sokaki Masyeri? It's important. Can't write any more.

"HUGH."

"P.S. The others are all right. The bearer can't wait."

"Can you beat that!" I gasped.

"Exceedingly ingenious," murmured King. "Dear me, how fortunate it was that we returned when we did."

"We mustn't leave anything to chance, though," said Nikka quickly: "You can't tell what other steps they may have taken to trap her. We had better go down to the dock at once."

Hugh glanced at the clock.

"Yes, she'd hardly be back yet," he muttered. "One moment. I'll leave word at the desk that she is not to go out, no matter what message she may receive, until we return."

He rejoined us at the door, and we all entered a taxi which Nikka had impounded. Nobody said anything, but while we were jolting into Galata Hugh produced his automatic, and make sure it contained a full clip. At the dock there was no sign of the Curlew, and the late afternoon sunlight failed to reveal her stubby little hull amongst the shipping in the Golden Horn. None of the dock attendants had seen the launch or anything of Betty or Watkins since we had waved good-by to them before three o'clock.

We waited a while, thinking they might show up, but after six o'clock King became nervous and persuaded us to return to the hotel. There, too, there was no word of them, and we began to worry in earnest. Dusk was coming on rapidly, and it was not like Betty to protract her cruise so late, although she was fully capable of navigating after dark, with the help of Watkins, or, for that matter, without his help.

We taxied to the dock a second time. The Curlew was nowhere to be seen.

"Perhaps it would be advisable to hire a boat and search for them in the Marmora," suggested King. "Their engine may have broken down."

"We had better not split our forces," Nikka objected.

"Engine trouble would never bother Betty," Hugh said. "Still, I don't like it."

"We are probably worrying about nothing," I said. "After all, it was a blessing in disguise that she stayed out so late. It insured against her being caught by that note in case we hadn't intercepted it."

"I'm not interested in 'if,' and 'had,'" snapped Hugh. "I don't like this delay. Those devils of Toutou's are capable of having an extra trick in reserve."

"I vote we go back to the hotel," proposed Nikka; "maybe I can pick up one of my Gypsies. We could start them out on the trail."

Nikka's suggestion did not make anybody any happier. It indicated that he, like the rest of us, was commencing to take the situation more seriously than he cared to admit openly. But we climbed into the smelly taxi for the fourth time, and were jounced up to Pera. The hotel people regarded us with some amazement when Vernon King again inquired for his daughter. No, she had not returned. Was anything wrong?

King hesitated, looked at us. It was hard to know what to say. Something might be wrong. And yet the chances were that the only thing wrong was a cranky motor. We didn't want publicity. We couldn't afford to attract unnecessary attention. Our party was sufficiently conspicuous, as it was, and was taken for granted and let alone largely because it included an American millionaire archæologist and an English milord, both of whom, by all the rules of the Orient, were naturally assumed to be harmless lunatics.

"No," he answered at length, "I think not. My daughter has a reliable servant with her. I am simply anxious for her return."

The hotel management were all sympathy. Monsieur need not worry. Let him dine in comfort. The instant Mademoiselle returned or word of her arrived he should be apprised. In the meantime, why concern himself unnecessarily?

"They're right," said Hugh as we grouped in the lobby, canvassing our next step. "We've had a hard day, and we need food. Let's eat. By the way, Nikka, did you see your Gypsies?"

"No, and if anything much had gone wrong, I think—at least, there's a strong probability—they would spot it sooner or later and report to me."

"Obviously, we have done all we can for the present," said Vernon King. "Hugh's suggestion is a good one. Perhaps food and a rest will sharpen our wits."

We went to the Kings' sitting room, where we had breakfasted that morning, and sat down wearily, discouraged, disheartened, more than a little dismayed. But as my uncle had said, food and wine and black coffee brightened our despondency. We were on the point of deciding that the best policy would be to risk dividing forces, sending Hugh and Vernon King on a chartered boat to scour near-by waters, while Nikka and I attempted to investigate Sokaki Masyeri, when Watkins entered unannounced.

He was very pale. His collar was streaked with blood. There was an ugly bump on the side of his head. He dragged one foot after the other.

"Oh, your ludship," he murmured, and dropped into a chair.

At once he strove to regain his feet, but collapsed again.

"I beg pardon, I'm sure, your ludship—no disrespect intended—fair dead beat I am, sir—my 'ead and all—"

Hugh seized a glass of champagne and carried it to him, holding the glass to his lips.

"Where is—" Hugh's tongue boggled Betty's name.

"They—they've—took 'er, your ludship," answered Watkins faintly.

"How? Where? Is she alive?"

King sprang from his chair, wringing his hands.

"Oh, my God! She is all I have! What has happened? Where is she? Please tell me!"

"Wait a minute," said Nikka quietly. "He's all in. Give him food and some more to drink. That's right, Jack. There's a bottle of whiskey over there. Pour a stiff dram into a cup of coffee, Hugh."

With stimulants to help him, and a cold cloth on his head, Watkins regained control of himself.

"It 'appened so quick I don't rightly know 'ow it was," he said. "We 'ad run out beyond the Princes Islands, and I saw there was little shipping around, your ludship and gentlemen. And then there was a fishing-boat with power bore down on us. Miss Betty and I, we didn't think anything about it until 'e was right on us. Even then we thought they'd only lost control of their rudder like. But when they bumped us and tumbled aboard I knew they wasn't up to no good, your ludship.

"Miss Betty reached for 'er gun, and so did I. But somebody grabbed 'er, and somebody else pushed me over, at the same a chap lashed at me with an iron-weighted club. 'E thought 'e'd knocked my brains out, and 'e would, too, except I fell so fast on account of bein' pushed, I was under the level of the rail when the club 'it me and most of the blow went into the rail. Splintered it, it did, your ludship. And but for that I wouldn't be 'ere."

"And Miss Betty?" questioned Hugh eagerly.

"I don't know, your ludship. When I saw anything again I was lyin' on the floor of the cockpit, dusk was coming on and the launch was drifted far out to sea. They'd stopped the engine. I don't know 'ow I got back 'ere. My 'ead went round and round. But I thought if I could get to you, your ludship and gentlemen, maybe we could think of something else to do. Just give me a chance to lay my 'ands on that 'ere Tootoo! I'll bash 'is 'ead for 'im."

"They did have a spare trick ready," commented Nikka. "Our visit to Hilmi was part of a plot to get hold of Betty. You see, they would have caught her, whether she had gone sailing or not."

"You said this afternoon we had our back to the wall," said Hugh. "You were right. They've licked us. Our only chance is to clean them up."

The room-telephone rang. King answered it.

"Send him up," he said. And to Nikka: "A Gypsy asking for you."

"That will be Wasso Mikali," cried Nikka. "He must have learned something. I thought he would. Don't be downhearted, Hugh. This hand is a long way from being played out. It is as I thought all along; we have got to meet savagery with savagery. It is a case of kill or be killed."

"But Betty!" exclaimed Vernon King. "Think of her! What will they—"

"I am thinking of her," retorted Nikka. "If we hope to rescue her we must strike hard. Give them time, let them strengthen their position—and she will go to some harem in Anatolia or to a procurer in Salonika. I tell you, I know. We are dealing with men and women who have no mercy, who fight like animals, who are animals. Well, from now on, Nikka Zaranko will meet them on their own ground."

There was a knock on the door. Wasso Mikali entered, his garish Gypsy dress in striking contrast to the Western furnishings and our own conventional garments.

"I greet you, son of my sister," he said calmly. "My young men, watching in Sokaki Masyeri this evening, beheld Tokalji's party carry in a bundle in a sack, which was a body. I have hastened that you should know it."

Nikka clasped his hand.

"It is well, my uncle. I thank you for the news. This is the night of blood of which I have spoken. We shall all dip our blades before the sun rises to-morrow."

"My heart is glad," replied Wasso Mikali, with flashing eyes. "My young men's knives are eager. Their hands are ready. What is the plan?"

Nikka turned to us.

"I must go with my people," he said. "Hugh, do you and Jack think you could keep the gang in play by a surprise attack through the drain? That would give us a chance to force the street-entrance, and we should have them between two fires."

"And where am I going to be?" demanded Vernon King indignantly.

"This will be a nasty affair, Professor," returned Nikka. "You ought to stay out. We are younger men, and we are used to this kind of thing."

"Betty is my daughter, and I am as able to fight for her as any of you," answered King. "I know how to handle a pistol."

"We ought not to refuse you, you know," said Hugh. "Every man is going to count."

"I certainly expect to be counted," replied King.

"Me, too, your ludship and Mister Nikka, sir," spoke up Watty, lunging to his feet. "Yes, I will, gentlemen. You give me another glass of that 'ere whiskey or arak or whatever you call it, and I'll fight 'em all by myself. Yes, I will. And I guess I can swing a crowbar, if I 'ave got a bump on my 'ead. Let me at 'em, gentlemen, only let me. That's all I ask."

CHAPTER XXIV

IN THE STORM

It was beginning to rain when we left the hotel, with occasional peals of thunder; but we welcomed the change in the weather as a factor aiding the surprise attack we had intended. At the Galata end of the Lower Bridge, which was deserted as usual after dark, we dismissed our taxi, and held a final brief council of war in a patch of shadows next the bridge abutment. King, Hugh, Watkins and I were to embark on the Curlew, while Nikka and Wasso Mikali tramped to the Khan of the Georgians and rallied Mikali's six young men. Then they were to go to Sokaki Masyeri, and wait for a pistol-shot, which would be the signal that we had passed through the drain and were at grips with the enemy. Hugh and Nikka compared watches and agreed that we should be in Tokalji's house not later than half-past ten.

The rain let up as we shook hands and wished each other luck, but by the time the Curlew was chugging down the Golden Horn it had set in again with tripled violence, lashed on by a northeast gale. At intervals broad splotches of lightning bathed the city to our right in a ghastly greenish glow. And when we emerged into the Bosphorus we found a fairly high sea running, but the launch sturdily thrust her bow into the waves and rode buoyantly over them. We cautiously felt our way along, lights out, motor running at half-speed, taking bearings whenever the jagged lightning streaks illuminated the waters.

I was worried by the frequency of the lightning displays, but fortunately, as we sighted the round tower on the walls, which was our first landmark for Tokalji's house, there was a lull in the storm. We were also favored in having the old sea-walls act as a lee for us as we worked in closer to shore. The waves moderated, and the fish-hook curve of the ruined jetty broke their remaining force. When Watkins had made fast bow and stern lines to a couple of masses of battered masonry the Curlew floated almost as easily as at her moorings by the Man-o-war Dock. But the difficulties of navigation in the darkness and the necessity for extreme care had slowed our progress, and we were some minutes behind our schedule.

The rocks of the jetty, too, were awash, and it was as much as your life was worth to slip, for a fall might mean a broken head or limb. At one point, indeed, several of us lost the jetty altogether and were obliged to swim half-a-dozen strokes to the beach. Watkins, who insisted on arming himself with a crowbar, would have drowned if Hugh had not hauled him in by the scuff of the neck. It was impossible to see anything, except once when a lightning flash streaked the sky and struck with a stunning report in Scutari across the Straits. And then we were so afraid of being discovered that we froze stiff as close to the rocks as possible.

The beach, like the jetty, was under water. The waves lapped up to the foot of the walls, and we stumbled desperately over submerged rocks and bowlders. Watkins, just ahead of me in line, tripped, and very nearly knocked my brains out with his infernal crowbar. I begged him to drop it, but he doggedly refused.

"I'm no knife-fighter, Mister Jack, sir," he said, "and I'm intending to give the persons that 'it me a taste of their own stew like."

We identified the opening of the sewer by the hollow, booming sound with which, every now and then, an unusually high wave would roll over its lip. It sounded like the beating of a watery bass-drum. The rain was driving down again, and the wind blew overhead with a shrill vehemence that was deafening.

"We'll never be able to get through that 'ell-'ole tonight, Mister Jack, sir," screamed Watkins in my ear. "We'll be drowned along with the rats."

I was somewhat of Watty's opinion, myself, but managed to placate him. Hugh, without any hesitation, yelled: "One at a time!" and slipped into the sewer mouth between two waves. King followed him, and Watty and I brought up the rear. We were cheered to find the place less terrifying than we had imagined it. The water was thigh-deep, instead of knee-deep, as it had been when we escaped from the dungeon, but once you had fumbled your way by torch-light over the jagged moraine that blocked the first thirty feet, the footing became safer and the water shallowed.

Just the same, I never think of the place without shuddering. It was deathly silent, except for the ceaseless seepage of moisture, the occasional muffled boom of a wave spattering over its mouth and the squeaking of the gigantic black rats that swam ahead of us or wriggled into cracks in the serried courses of the masonry. Our electric torches shone feebly on the mossy walls, with their sickening fungus growths, their bright green, pendent weeds. Amorphous plants hung from the roof. The atmosphere was slimy, noisome, unclean. And always there was the "drip-drip-drip" of water.

We breathed more comfortably when our torches revealed overhead the bars of the stone grating in the floor of the dungeon.

"All quiet above," whispered Hugh, after listening intently. "Dark as hell, too. I say, how much farther do you suppose this drain goes?"

He trained his torch into the thick murk of the immense tube which extended beyond the grating as far as our eyes could penetrate.

"I'm inclined to believe it continues into the city, ably as far as the site of the Forum of Theodosius," King replied, his scholar's interest awake. "That was a region of palaces which would have required such a work of engineering. It should be well worth exploring."

"Never mind that now," urged Hugh. "We have another task on hand."

He pried up the grating with Watty's crowbar, the butt of which we rested on the ledge in which the grating fitted. This secured a space sufficiently wide for us to squeeze through, and after all of us had climbed up we eased the grating back into its bed, so that there was no trace remaining of our entrance.

CHAPTER XXV

THE RECKONING

The big room was a maze of shadows. Stable-lanterns, flickering in the drafts, hung from hooks in walls and pillars. Toutou stayed his flight by the door to the courtyard, one ear inclined to the bedlam of shots and outcries that threaded the roar of the storm. As we burst in he raised a pistol and sprayed us with bullets as rapidly as he could pull the trigger. But he had the knife-fighter's inability to shoot straight. Bullets "phutted" all around us, yet none of us was hit.

Several men and women stared at us. Hilmi Bey peered from behind a pillar next the courtyard door. He had plainly taken shelter at the crack of Hélène's pistol. Montey Hilyer and Serge Vassilievich stood some distance to the right of us, paralyzed with surprise. Maude Hilyer and Sandra Vassilievna had risen from seats in the apse-like recess at the other end. Apparently they had supposed Toutou was engaged only with Hélène.

He screamed at them, insensate in his fury. His knife still dripped blood. He flung his empty pistol at us.

"Fools!" he shrieked. "We are betrayed!"

The door to the courtyard was jerked open, and he spun on his heel and dodged behind a pillar. Tokalji reeled in.

"Strange Tzigane folk have burst the street-door," he bellowed. "We—"

He gaped at sight of us.

"Quick!" Hugh shouted. "Scatter—before they shoot!"

Watkins and I jumped right and left. Hugh sought the shelter of a pillar.

"Shoot!" yelled Toutou. "Shoot! Fools! Swine! Dogs!"

And he babbled on obscenely, darting catlike from pillar to pillar toward Watty. Hilyer and Serge simultaneously came to life and made for us, guns spurting, throwing pieces of furniture to confuse us. Things happened so fast that it was impossible to keep track of everything, but I found myself involved in a pistol duel with Serge. Hugh and Watkins were blazing away at Hilmi, Hilyer and Tokalji, and Toutou was weaving through the smoke, seeking an opportunity to close with one of us. I paid no attention to the women until a bullet spatted on a pillar by my ear. I knew it could not have come from the front, and startled, I turned to the left in time to see Sandra aiming deliberately at me. I dodged, and thereby opened myself to her brother's attack.

He was an excellent marksman, and I realized there could be only one result for me if I continued exposed in flank. So I tore a lantern from its hook and flung it on the floor. The burning oil vomited forth a cloud of thick black smoke, and under cover of this, I changed my position, gaining the protection of another pillar. Here I was safe from Sandra; but her brother knew where I was and our duel continued. It was no steady stream of bullets, but a pot-shot whenever one of us thought he saw an opportunity. All around us others were doing the same thing, and the vaulted roof rang to the reports, while the acrid fumes of the powder and the smoke from broken lamps stung the eyes. And outside the thunder was pealing and the lightning splitting the heavens and Nikka's men and Tokalji's Gypsies were trying their feeble best to rival nature's forces.

Suddenly, I sensed that our opponents were bracing for a combined effort. There was a rapid-fire exchange of exclamations in the thieves' French and Tzigane dialect they used for confidential communication. I heard an empty cartridge-clip jingle on the floor. But in the shifting light and smoke it was impossible now to tell real men from the shadows. I stuck my head around a pillar, crouched and slipped aside. Then, while I was unprotected, the rush came.

"Go!" called Hilyer's voice.

The shadows were pricked with pistol-flashes. Serge Vassilievich leaped for the pillar behind which I had stood, his gun blazing, knife in hand. He did not see me, on my knees, four feet to the right, and I put my first bullet in his thigh. He stopped as if a giant's hand had been shoved against his breast, tottered and fell backward. As he fell, one of the burning oil-pools ignited a bundle of blankets, and the rising flames sketched us both clearly against the darkness that shrouded the far end of the room.

There was a scream. I recognized Sandra's voice, but I could not see her. Instead, I saw Hilmi Bey sneaking on Watkins, who was holding back Toutou. I drove the Levantine away with my first shot. Then the hammer clicked, and I knew the magazine was empty. I dropped to my knee again, thinking I was concealed by a patch of shadow, and fumbled for a fresh clip. But the treacherous light flared upward, the shadow disappeared and I was left defenseless. I saw a raging figure, hair flying, pistol raised, running at me. I saw the pistol flash, felt a numbing blow on my left shoulder and tumbled in a heap.

For a second my eyes misted, the room danced before me. Then I heard a chatter of Russian and Watkins, mildly disapproving.

"None of that 'ere, miss. If you please, now! I don't want to 'urt you, but—"

I looked up. Sandra, her face contorted with demoniac rage, her empty pistol shaking in her hand, was backing away before Watty's menacing crowbar.

A woman screamed again, horribly, so that it rasped your heart-strings. It was Maude Hilyer. She stood, with hands clutching her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the center of the room where Montey staggered against a pillar, the blood from a punctured lung gurgling in his throat, bravely trying for the last time to raise the smoking muzzle of his automatic.

Hugh, relieved of the Englishman's attack, was taking pot-shots at Toutou and Hilmi. I saw Tokalji slip through the door into the rain, and as Vernon King ran up the stairs from the atrium Hilmi followed the Tzigane and Toutou jumped through a window, squawling like the big cat he was. Behind me Watkins was scientifically roping Sandra, hand and foot, regardless of the curses she spat in three languages. Vassilievich had fainted from the pain of his wound. Maude Hilyer sat on the dirty floor, under the single wobbling lantern that remained intact, and cradled the head of her dying husband. We had swept the House of the Married.

Or had we? As I tried unsuccessfully with one hand to reload my pistol, I felt a pressure on my back. I turned and very nearly impaled myself on a long knife-blade. A tense, willowy figure, bare-footed and tumble-haired, stood over me.

"You are Jakka," said Kara in the Tzigane dialect—I could understand simple phrases after my experience with Nikka's tribespeople. "Where is Nikka?"

Dumbfounded, I pointed to the courtyard. She glided toward the door, but Hugh intervened.

"Not so fast," he said. "Whose friend are you?"

She did not understand him, and raised her knife.

"I'll shoot you, if you are a girl," warned Hugh. "Any one who resists—"

"She's all right, Hugh," I called. "She's trying to find Nikka—must have been asleep upstairs. Let her go."

But she did not wait for him to stand aside. With a single leap, she put one of the pillars between him and herself, and vaulted from the window Toutou had escaped by.

"Nothing slow about that girl," said Hugh. "Everybody whole?"

A pistol cracked in the doorway, and the bullet sang by his ear.

"They're still after us," he commented, dropping beside me. "Have to load my gun."

"Then load mine, too," I said. "My left shoulder's hit—whole arm is no use."

He laid down his automatic.

"We'll carry you inside with Betty. I see Watty has made a prisoner, and Vassilievich had better be watched. You can—"

"I will not," I returned. "We'll need every man before we finish to-night. Hear that!"

The courtyard had become an inferno—yells, screams, howls, shots, the beat of the rain and the din of the storm.

"Tie my arm to my side, and I'll be O.K.," I urged.

Betty crawled between us.

"Did I hear you call me?" she asked.

"My word!" grunted Hugh. "Get back, Bet. This is—"

"Touch and go," she supplemented his sentence. "I have Hélène's gun. You boys had better help Nikka. I can guard this place."

A whistle shrilled in the courtyard.

"Hugh!" It was Nikka's voice. "Jack!"

There was a racket of shots.

"Yes, he must be badly outnumbered," muttered Hugh. "No time to lose. Here, Jack, where's your handkerchief? Right O! Thanks, Bet. Not too tight. Can you stand that?"

"Yes, load my gun, somebody."

Betty took it. King, ensconced behind an adjacent pillar, fired at the door.

"They seem to be waiting for us out there," he observed.

"Yes," said Hugh. "Betty, you lie here in the shadows. Don't let anybody approach you, no matter what they say. Keep an eye on Mrs. Hilyer and the Russian girl—and her brother. See him over there? He's done in, for the time-being, but if he comes to maybe you'd better tie him up."

"Don't you worry about me," answered Betty valiantly. "I can take care of myself. Do hurry!"

"'Ere, your ludship," came a throaty whisper from Watkins. "This way, gentlemen."

He was at the far end of the room, and while we watched, he put his hat on the end of his crowbar—from which he refused to be parted—and stuck it above the sill of a window.

"I've done this twice now, your ludship," he added, "and nothing's 'appened. They ain't watching 'ere."

A little investigation proved that he was right, and we crawled out into the rain and huddled against the house-wall, attempting to disentangle the situation. The rain was descending in slanting, blinding sheets. Pistols cracked and men gasped or shouted, but we could not tell whether they were friends or foes. As we waited, two men dashed by, one in pursuit of the other. It was impossible for us to intervene. Then, with a preliminary crash of thunder, the lightning zigzagged across the sky, and for the winking of an eye the courtyard was bright as day.

I had an impression of bodies scattered here and there, and little clusters of men that struggled and ran. Over in the corner of the courtyard wall by the bachelors' house men swirled in a tumultuous mass. The darkness closed down once more, thick and wet and cold.

"Coming, Nikka!" shouted Hugh. And to us: "The big fight is the key to everything. We must break it up. They've got Nikka pinned in."

Tokalji's gang faced around as we attacked their rear; but we went clean through them and almost drove on to the knives of Nikka's party.

"After them!" panted Hugh. "We've got 'em breaking!"

Nikka called to his men in their own tongue, and they lined up with us in a thin file across the courtyard from wall to wall. Behind Nikka I had a brief vision of a figure as elusive as the rain. I thought of an assassin who had flanked us and lifted my automatic—but something, the proud poise of the head, perhaps, warned me it was Kara.

There was a crackle of pistol-fire in front of us, and a knot of figures swayed into view, distorted, indistinct. The deluge seemed to act as a freak lens to play tricks with normal vision; and possibly that was why comparatively few were shot. Twice I had men fair over the barrel of my pistol, and both times I missed—and I am rather better than a good shot. But I had no opportunity for philosophizing at that time.

Toutou and Hilmi Bey went for Nikka. He was bleeding from a cut in the arm, and all his men were engaged. Hugh, with King and Watty, was developing an encircling movement on the opposite end of the line. I started to go to Nikka's aid, but a man sprang at me from nowhere, and I was obliged to dodge him until I had a chance to shoot, I did not miss that time. When I looked again, Nikka and Toutou were circling each other, and Hilmi was at grips with Kara.

At first I thought the Levantine was scheming to throw the girl, but as I drew near I perceived that he had clinched with her in mortal terror of her knife. She held his own powerless by her grasp of his wrist. A mocking light gleamed in her eyes, and she shook back her loose hair and jeered at him in the Tzigane dialect. With one pudgy hand he strove to ward off her blade, but he could not control her lithe muscles. She tore her wrist free, the steel drove home through his sodden frock-coat and he collapsed with a squeal.

Kara pulled out her knife as casually as though it had been a familiar occurrence, and turned to watch Nikka's fight with Toutou. Nikka from the corner of his eye saw the two of us, plainly waiting a chance to help him, and he leaped clear of the circle of his enemy's knife long enough to snap:

"Let be! I finish this alone!"

I couldn't have helped him, in any case, for as redoubtable a person as Tokalji, himself, attacked me that moment. Kara did not even notice my danger. She also ignored the man she called father. Her whole attention was concentrated upon Nikka. I fired once at the Gypsy chief, and missed. That was the last cartridge in the magazine, and I attempted to lose him in the rain. But he refused to be lost, and I was making up my mind to taking his knife in my wounded arm and battering his head with my pistol-butt, when Watkins loomed in the mist and brought down his trusty crowbar on Tokalji's knife-wrist. The Gypsy yelped like a dog, and the knife clattered on the ground. Watty produced some rope from a pocket and deftly twisted the man's arms behind him. Tokalji yelped again.

"Easy," I said. "The fellow's wrist is broken."

"I'm tying 'im above the helbows, Mister Jack, sir," answered Watty. "But if it did 'urt 'im a bit I wouldn't worry, sir. I 'ave an hidea, sir, 'e was one of the scoundrels that bashed me 'ead."

My one thought was of Nikka, and I sought him over the rain-battered area of the court. The fighting had drifted away toward the sea-wall. There seemed to be nobody near me. I listened hard, and in a lull of the storm my ears detected the click of blades. I stumbled toward it, and nearly fell on top of Kara, crouching as I had left her, eyes glued on the two men who circled tirelessly, steel-tipped arms crooked before them.

Toutou had a huge advantage in reach, but Nikka had the benefit of lithe agility, a wrist of iron—the result of years of bowing; a hawk's eyes; and all the tricks with the blade that the people of his race have amassed in centuries of bloody strife. Four times, while I watched, Toutou endeavored to force down Nikka's knife by the sheer strength of his gorilla-arm, and each time Nikka disengaged and refused to give the opportunity his adversary needed. Twice Nikka tried a certain trick, a combination of lightning thrusts and clever footwork. But the Frenchman parried it each time, and retaliated so quickly as to drive Nikka out of reach.

Neither of them said anything. Toutou spat and whined in his throat, cat-fashion. Nikka panted from the exertion. Both of them dripped with sweat, notwithstanding the rain. There was something of an epic quality about their struggle, and I discovered myself taking the same almost impersonal interest in it that Kara demonstrated. By all the principles of normal right-behavior, I should have ignored Nikka's command to let him fight it out alone, and rushed in at the first opening to kill a monster, who did not deserve and had no appreciation of knightly treatment. But I could not. I was chained by an emotion I could not fathom.

And yet I was absorbed in Nikka's success. My heart leaped in my throat when I saw that he was trying for the third time the trick which had twice failed. His knife went up in the same way, he shifted posture as he had in his other tries, and Toutou mechanically side-stepped as experience had told him was safe and aimed a stab which should have cut Nikka's throat. But Nikka was not there. He had varied the trick. Stooping, his knife had fallen, then sliced upward—and Toutou staggered, a look of bland surprise on his face, ripped open from belly to chest.

"Pt-sss-ss-tss-sst!" he hissed, and fell forward.

Kara hurled herself into Nikka's arms.

"You are the greatest knife-fighter of the Tziganes!" she cried triumphantly. "You are a king! You are my man! See, while you conquered your enemy, I, too, stabbed the rat who tried to put his knife in your back."

And she led Nikka to the body of Hilmi, which, I regret to say, she kicked with her brown toes. Nikka absent-mindedly leaned over to wipe his knife on the Levantine's coat-tails, but Kara intervened.

"No, no," she exclaimed. "Here is my hair! Wipe it on my hair, beloved of my heart. Let me suck it clean with my lips! So we shall have strong sons."

Nikka looked sufficiently annoyed to show that he had some instincts of civilization remaining.

"Peace," he ordered royally. "Be quiet, girl!"

She cowered before him, and he recognized me.

"Oh, hullo, Jack! Where's Hugh?"

Hugh loomed through the rain as he spoke.

"That you, Nikka? We think we've got Tokalji's people rounded up, but we need you to talk to them. Has Toutou—"

"He's there."

Nikka pointed his knife to the heap of drab garments that had been the French "killer."

"Good for you!" exclaimed Hugh. "I'm glad he didn't get off. When you think of Uncle James and—that girl we saw—and I suppose others! What a beast!"

We splashed after him, Kara following Nikka like a dog. Wasso Mikali, his surviving young men, King and Watkins were guarding thirteen shivering Gypsies in the lee of the bachelors' quarters. In reply to questions, Tokalji told Nikka—and Kara, shamelessly throwing in her lot with us, corroborated him—that there had been fifteen of their band on the premises. A search of the courtyard disclosed two of them dead, together with one of Wasso Mikali's men. We bound the arms of the prisoners, most of whom were suffering from bullet-wounds or stabs, and marched them over to the House of the Married.

The one lantern was still flickering when we entered, and Betty rose to greet us.

"Thank God!" she said soberly as her eyes envisaged us all. "What did you do with Mrs. Hilyer?"

"Isn't she here?" asked Hugh.

"No. I don't know just when she left. There was a lot of firing, and I looked to where she had been sitting by her husband, and she was gone."

Nikka and I sped back into the courtyard. We picked our way over the occasional bodies to the street-door. It was ajar.

"I locked it myself!" cried Nikka. "Old Wasso picked it without damaging the spring. I took time when we entered to fasten it again."

I was feeling very weak. My shoulder throbbed. Nausea assailed me in recurrent waves. But I clutched the gate-post, and peered into the street. Nobody was in sight. Sokaki Masyeri was a bare waste of mud and foaming gutters.

"She escaped," said Nikka. "Too bad! We might have— What's the matter, Jack?"

He caught me as my knees bent under me. I felt the rain on my eyelids, and then everything was blotted out.