CHAPTER XXIII
"VI ET ARMIS"
When uncle and nephew regained the lower floor they found that Armstronghad not been idle. From one side of the room he had hauled a long, stouttable and set it up endwise against the door, between that and theprinting press.
"Capital!" said Mr. Pratt. "You have doubled the thickness of ourarmour. But, in default of sandbags, we must find something tostrengthen our defences still further."
"I had thought of that, sir," said Armstrong. "There's nothing but thisbale of paper and the sheets already printed. I think they will prettywell fill the space between the press and the door; if not we can getsome of the boxes from below. They are no longer needed there."
"Excellent idea! You young fellows set about that while I keep watch."
In a few minutes the boys had wedged the paper and a number of boxesinto the vacant space, so as to form almost a solid block. Mr. Prattmeanwhile reported the movements of the enemy without.
"Gradoff is surrounded by his gang. He is haranguing them. Two of themhave gone away towards the river. Nick Rush looks a littleuncomfortable. No doubt he prefers stealth and secrecy, and has visionsof the interior of a prison cell. Wonderful how brave a man can be ifhe thinks he will not be found out. They are taking off their coats.Aha! They are going to ram us. The two men have returned with a longpole. A pity I had those trees felled; pity, too, that I had theparapet so thoroughly repaired, or we might have hurled stones upon ourassailants in the manner of our ancestors. They used boiling oil, too,molten lead, and various other pleasant devices which are out of ourpower. Ah! The performance is about to begin. Six of them have liftedthe pole--a fine, straight piece of timber. One of the strangers, Iobserve, is lending a hand. Gradoff is usually so calm andself-contained that the excitement with which he is now giving orders issomewhat amusing. What weapons have we, by the way?"
"I have that fellow Jensen's pistol, sir," said Armstrong. "Besidesthat we have only short cudgels."
"And the hammer and chisel," added Percy.
"We are unexpectedly well off," said Mr. Pratt. "I think I will take thepistol; no doubt I am a little more used to that sort of thing thanArmstrong. For the rest--come, my lads, Gradoff has finished. Standready!"
The position now was that before an entry could be forced, the door mustbe broken, and the barricade of table, boxes and paper overthrown. Mr.Pratt and the boys had just posted themselves beside the printing press,when there was a thundering crash at the door. The room seemed toquiver; some of the upper sheets of paper rose and fell as if a wind hadblown upon them; and the vibration caused the printing press to giveforth a low ringing note. But the stout oaken door had not yielded.There were shouts outside. A few moments passed; then the buildingshook under the impact of a second stroke.
"Heart of oak!" exclaimed Mr. Pratt, with satisfaction. "The door isoak; the ram, I think, is beech. Listen."
The tones of Gradoff's voice, soaring to an unnatural pitch, were heardchiding, urging, encouraging. A third time his men advanced, not withthe cheery unisonal "Yo! ho!" of British tars, but each man raising hisparticular cry.
"More vim in that," remarked Armstrong, as the shattering blowresounded. "And look, sir."
About a foot below the upper hinge of the door, which was not covered bythe table, a jagged streak of light shone through.
"Yes," said Mr. Pratt, coolly. "They have cracked the shell. Thehinges will give. In five or six minutes they will be scrambling overour barricade. I find I have only four cartridges; they must bereserved for the critical moment. Percy, run upstairs and bring down thehammer and chisel--yes, and the chain. I have no objection whatever toturning the enemy's weapons against him."
While Percy was absent, the assailants, who had evidently marked thedamage already done, again rammed the door, on the same side. There wasa flood of light through a gap nearly a foot square; splinters of timberacross the upturned end of the table fell at Armstrong's feet. At thenext blow the door split from top to bottom, and the whole of the upperpart fell inwards. Apparently the enemy guessed that some attempt at abarricade had been made, for their next stroke was delivered lower down,with such force that it broke through the door, drove the table in, andsent some of the piled-up boxes toppling.
"Won't you now try a shot, sir?" said Armstrong.
"They have drawn back; next time," replied Mr. Pratt. "Stand clear."
Once more the battering-ram was rushed forward. It could now be seenthat the shorter men held the fore part; the taller men were behind. Mr.Pratt raised his arm, but before he could take deliberate aim theforceful stroke carried the remnants of the door inwards, and hurled theshattered table, broken boxes, and flying sheets of paper in oneindistinguishable mass upon the printing press, which gave way and fellwith a mighty crash upon the floor. Mr. Pratt barely escaped beingoverthrown with it. He staggered backward, and the pistol was knockedfrom his hand. The small figure of the Italian chauffeur leapt into thebreach, and began to clamber over the wreckage. Armstrong dartedforward, and, before the man had time to swing round, Armstrong's cudgeldescended with a resounding crack upon his skull, and he fell sprawlingamong the litter.
"HE STAGGERED BACKWARD, AND THE PISTOL WAS KNOCKED FROMHIS HAND."]
But Maximilien Rod was at his heels. Stumbling over him, the cookplunged head foremost among the boxes, only his fall saving him fromArmstrong's club. Immediately behind him dashed the tall Pole. Havingno time to swing his cudgel, Armstrong jabbed at him, and catching himunder the chin sent him reeling against the doorpost. Meanwhile Mr.Pratt had disengaged himself from the obstructing press and regained hispistol, just as Rush and his big comrade of the island forged throughthe opening. The Pole had sprung to his feet with catlike agility. Arevolver cracked. Mr. Pratt recoiled, rapidly changed his pistol fromthe right hand to the left, and fired.
There was a sudden lull. Rush and the Finn had slipped back out ofharm's way. Through the smoke Armstrong saw two men on the floor--thechauffeur whom he had felled, and the Pole, victim to Mr. Pratt'spistol.
"Back to the stairs!" murmured the old gentleman. He tottered.
"Are you hit, sir?" cried Armstrong, darting to his support.
"Yes. Leave me and hold the stairs."
At this moment the entrance was darkened by the forms of the remainingmembers of the attacking party, Rush and the Finn, urged forward byGradoff and his friends. Armstrong, holding Mr. Pratt, felt that thegame was up. But now came Percy leaping down the winding stairs. Intothe room he dashed, carrying a long bar of iron. Taking in the situationat a glance, he flung himself at the foremost intruders. Rush doubledup under his vehement onslaught; Sibelius recoiled upon Gradoff; and themomentary check gave Armstrong time to haul Mr. Pratt out of the lightto the foot of the dark stairway. Swiftly withdrawing from the heap ofwreckage, Percy had barely joined them and helped to draw his uncle up afew steps to the protection of the curving wall, when four pistolscracked, and chips of stone fell clattering upon the stairs.
Immediately afterwards a burly arm and shoulder showed itself in theround of the wall. Quick as thought Percy lunged with his iron bar andjabbed the intruder just below the elbow. The man threw out a hoarse,savage cry, and disappeared. For a brief space there was silence; thencame the noise of heavy feet kicking aside the debris in the room below,and rushing towards the stairway.
"Leave me," said Mr. Pratt again, sitting on one of the steps.
Armstrong sprang down, and darting in front of Percy, came face to facewith one of the strangers, who was rounding the corner, brandishing apistol. Unprepared, apparently, for sudden counter-attack, andincommoded by the right-hand twist of the narrow staircase, the man letslip his momentary chance of firing point-blank, but had enough presenceof mind to dodge the blow Armstrong aimed at him. If there had beenroom for two abreast on the stairs it might have gone ill with Armstrongthen; he staggered forward and thrust his ha
nds against the wall to savehimself from falling. Behind him, however, Percy had swiftly taken hiscue. With his extemporised pike he caught the stranger in the middle.The man recoiled upon his companions in the rear. A storm of cursesbroke from them, but in a few moments the din subsided, and nothing washeard except the low voices of the enemy in consultation.
"Jolly good weapon," whispered Armstrong, indicating the iron bar."Where did you get it?"
"Wrenched it off my uncle's bedstead," replied Percy.
"Any more?"
"One."
"Well, leave me this and go and get it, old chap. It's more useful thanthe club."
"Is there time?"
"I think so. They won't know quite what to do. But hurry up. I'lllook after your uncle--give him first aid. He ought to go upstairs; bythe time you're down again I'll have him ready to move."
"Much hurt, Uncle?" asked Pratt, bending down.
"A furrow ploughed in my forearm; nothing vital. Perhaps one of you willbind up the wound for me."
"I'll do that, sir," said Armstrong. "Cut away, Percy."
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