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“Yes, there is,” she said. “There’s a lot of money.”

“Good Lord! Where?”

“Under the floor in the kitchen.”

“Then it’s the kitchen they’ll make for. You bet they know where the money is, if they know it’s here. Are there many of ’em?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we shall know soon enough,” said the man. He had become alert, keen. “Have you any pistols?”

“Yes, one.”

“Fetch it, but don’t make a sound, mind.”

She stole away, and returned with the pistol. She would have put it into his hand, but he pushed it away.

“It’s no use to me,” he said, “with my arm in a sling. I will see what I can do with my left hand and the knife. Can you shoot?”

“Yes.”

“Can you hit anything?”

“Yes.”

“To be depended on?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s darned lucky. How long will that door hold?”

They were both in the little passage by now, pressed close together, listening to the furtive pick, pick, of some one at the lock.

“I don’t think it will hold more than a minute.”

“Now, look here,” he said, “I shall go and stand at the foot of the stair, and knife the second man, if there is a second. The first man I’ll leave to you. There’s a bit of light outside from the snow. He’ll let in enough light to see him by as he opens the door. Don’t wait. Fire at him as he comes in, and don’t stop; go on firing at him till he drops. You’ve got six bullets. Don’t you make any mistake and shoot me. I’ve had enough of that already. Now, you look carefully where I’m going to stand and when I’m there you put out the lamp.”

He spoke to her as a man does to his comrade.

That she could be frightened did not seem to enter his calculations. He moved with cat-like stealth to the foot of the tiny staircase, and flattened himself against the wall. Then he stretched his left arm once or twice as if to make sure of it, licked the haft of the knife, and nodded at her.

She instantly put out the lamp.

All was dark save for a faint thread of light which outlined the door. Across the thread something moved once–twice. The sound of picking ceased. Then another sound succeeded it, a new one, unlike the last, as if something was being gently prized open, wrenched.

“The bar will hold,” she said to herself; and then remembered for the first time that the rung into which the bar slid had been loose these many days. It was giving now.

It had given!

The door opened silently, and a man came in.

For a moment she saw him clear with the accomplice snowlight behind him. She did not hesitate. She shot once and again. He fell, and struggled violently up, and she shot again. He fell, and dragged himself to his knees, and she shot again. Then he sank gently and slowly down, as if tired, with his face against the wall, and moved no more.

The man on the stairs rushed out and looked through the open door.

“By G—-! he was single-handed,” he said.

Then he stooped over the prostrate man, and turned him over on his back.

“Dead!” he said, chuckling. “Well done, missus! Stone dead!”

He was masked.

The dirty left hand tore the mask callously off the grey face.

The woman had drawn near, and looked over his shoulder.

“Do you know him?” said the man.

For a moment she did not answer, and the pistol which had done its work so well dropped noisily out of her palsied hand.

“He is a stranger to me,” she said, looking fixedly at her husband’s fading face.