"Sh----"

Renwick felt his arm seized suddenly by Marishka's icy fingers and turned, following her wild gaze into the room behind them listening. The anxieties of the night had made Marishka's senses keen. "The door!" she whispered. "The secret door by which you came!"

Renwick listened. In a brief lull in the commotion outside, he heard a slight sound, near and startlingly distinct like that of a rat in a partition. Then in the blackness of the room, a gray streak appeared, slowly widening. The door into the secret passage had opened, and the starlight from the loophole beyond now showed a dusky silhouette.

Renwick felt Marishka's arm clutch his in terror, as Goritz noiselessly stepped forward into the room. Renwick had instinctively drawn the hanging behind him, and he and Marishka were in deep shadow while every move that Goritz made was clearly defined. First he took a pace toward the bed, then paused and turning struck a match and searched for the candle.

He was in shirt sleeves. Renwick had drawn his automatic and could have shot him easily. But murder, in cold blood--even when his life and Marishka's depended upon it! Renwick could not. He saw Goritz turn from the lighted candle and stare toward the empty bed and then quickly search the shadows of the room. It was a long moment before he saw the blaze of the candle beside him reflected in Renwick's eyes which peered down the barrel of his automatic.

"What nonsense is this--Marishka----?" he began.

But Renwick's voice cut the darkness like a steel blade.

"Don't move--Goritz. Hands up--high!"

"Who----?"

"Hands up, I say----" And as he slowly obeyed, "Now turn toward the bed----"

Goritz was now staring at Renwick as though he had seen a ghost, but he knew better than to take his hands down.

"You----" he muttered. "You're----"

"I'm Renwick," said the Englishman crisply. "Now do as I tell you or----"

He paused uncertainly, for at that moment, behind him through the window came the deep boom of a bell.

"The drawbridge!" cried Marishka.

"Ah!" came from Goritz's throat as with an incredibly swift movement he smothered the candle. Renwick fired twice and then threw Marishka to one side, but there was a crash of the door in the wainscoting, and then silence.

"He has gone!" cried Marishka somewhere in the darkness.

"Wait!" shouted Renwick. Some instinct warned him of the trick, and he sprang aside just as Goritz darted at the spot where he had been. He felt the rush of the man's body and turned, but did not dare to fire, for fear of hitting Marishka, so he ran forward toward the window and presently they met, body to body, clutching in primitive combat. The man's hand went at his throat, but he wrenched it away again--again. His arms went around the waist of his adversary low down, in the attempt to raise him and bear him to the ground. Goritz was now striking furiously at his head, and by this token Renwick knew that the man was unarmed.

Renwick's furious rush brought them with a thud against the wall, where they fell, oversetting a table to the floor. Amid the broken furniture they struggled, in the pitch blackness, with their bare hands, for Renwick's weapon had been knocked from his fingers. In the rebound from the wall Renwick fell beneath, Goritz with one hand upon his throat with a grip which was slowly tightening, but Renwick managed to tear it away and release himself, striking furiously at the man's face. Goritz was young and strong, and Renwick's struggle up the cliff had taken away some of his staying power, but he fought on blindly in the darkness; grimly, like the bulldog that holds and ever tightens his jaws, no matter what the punishment he suffers. The bulldog against the wolf.

Goritz was agile, and his arms were strong and wiry. He struck and tore, but Renwick's arms were cracking his ribs, squeezing the breath from his body. He struggled with an effort to one knee, and in the change of position managed to get the fingers of one hand around Renwick's throat again. They rolled over and over upon the floor, first one uppermost and then the other, but the fingers on the Englishman's throat were strong.

Fires flashed before Renwick's eyes and the blood seemed to be bursting from his temples.

His grip was relaxing.... He felt his strength going. Then with his remaining consciousness he was aware of a warm moisture upon one of his wrists. Blood! Goritz had been struck by one of his bullets. With a desperate effort, he let go one arm and struck. The man's grip relaxed and he tore it away, gasping greedily for breath.

Marishka in terror had at first slunk into a corner, listening to the fearful sounds of the combat--following it with her ears from one part of the room to another. What must she do? Gathering courage, she passed the foot of the bed, and grasping for the table found the match box and managed to light the candle.

They were upon the floor near one of the windows over the valley, locked in a deadly grip, breathing in terrible gasps. She must do something to help--something--for as the glow fell upon them they seemed to struggle upward against the wall by the window, upon the sill. She could not make out which was which--but instinctively she seemed to realize their deadly purpose--death for one or both on the rocks below! The hanging at the window came crashing down and enveloped them, but they did not know.

They were drunk with the lust of killing--mad!

Out of the confusion she saw Goritz rise smiling, straining with his arms, hauling Renwick over the sill. Death! Hers, too, then! With a cry of despair she reached them, clinging with her arms around Renwick's waist.

Goritz opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. He might have struck her down but he did not. Instead he rose with one foot upon the sill in one supreme effort to throw Renwick over, but the Englishman, already half out of the window, got his right arm loose, and swinging with all the strength left to him, launched a terrible blow at his adversary. It struck him on the point of the chin. Goritz staggered, lost his balance, toppled for a moment in the air, his grip on the Englishman's collar, which tore loose as he fell--out--into the black abyss....

Renwick sprawled half across the wide sill, but Marishka clung desperately, dragging him in--to safety. He toppled in upon the floor and lay motionless while Marishka hovered over him.

"Hugh----!" she cried. "Hugh!"

Renwick struggled up slowly, trying to speak, but his chest heaved convulsively, and he could only gasp meaninglessly.

"All--right," he managed to utter after a moment.

She got water and he drank of it.

"You're hurt--you're covered with blood."

"No, no----" he gasped, "winded."

"But the blood!"

"His. I had shot him--through the body."

Marishka peered toward the window and shuddered.

"His face--Hugh--I can't forget."

Renwick struggled painfully to his feet.

"Nor I. He almost did for me. If it hadn't been for you----"

"You'd have followed him, Hugh!" And then almost inaudibly, "Holy Virgin!" she whispered.

Renwick moved his limbs to be sure that they were sound.

"Close thing, that," he muttered. "Beastly close."

CHAPTER XXVII

BESIEGED

So desperate had been the struggle that they had forgotten the peril of the drawbridge. Shots had already been fired in the courtyard but they had not heard them. Now, as an awed silence fell upon them, at the passing of Goritz and at their relief from immediate danger, they were suddenly aware of the sounds of commotion outside near at hand, the sharp crack of small arms, the cries of men and the booming of the postern bell--calling Goritz--who would never come!

Renwick staggered to the window over the courtyard, Marishka's hand in his, and peered out. Somewhere a great fire was burning, for overhead the sky was copper-colored with its reflections, and below they saw dimly two figures crouching in the shadow of the postern gate. As they looked, three men emerged from the wall of the causeway, carrying a timber with which they approached the abyss, but as they neared the edge a flash darted from the postern and the foremost man fell. The others, with a rush, tried to cast an end of the heavy plank across the intervening space, but it fell short and went crashing down into the void below.

"They may be able to hold out for a time," whispered Renwick, "long enough to let us get away--come, Marishka--the ropes!"

He took the candle, and she opened the door into the corridor which led to the keep. Outside they met the old woman Ena, who was crouched upon the floor by a window, wringing her hands, half dead with fear. But she started up at the sight of Renwick, who led the way, and then looked in astonishment at Marishka.

"Who----?" she gasped, and paused.

"A friend, Ena," said Marishka. "Do not fear."