“They come--there, they come!” she cried, and throwing up her arms she fell back on the bed. The candle shot up into flame, sputtered an instant, and was gone. And I was alone with the darkness and the dead. CHAPTER XXVII A LINK IN THE CHAIN I sprang to my feet. The darkness was instinct with nameless terrors. The air was filled with nameless shapes. A spiritual horror surrounded me, and I felt that I must reach the light or cry out. But before I had covered the distance to the door, it was flung open and Corson stood on the threshold; and at the sight of him my courage returned and my shaken nerves grew firm. At the darkness he wavered and cried: “What's the matter here?” “She is dead.” “Rest her sowl! It's a fearsome dark hole to be in, sor.” I shuddered as I stood beside him, and brought the lamp from the bracket in the hall. Mother Borton lay back staring affrightedly at the mystic beings who had come for her, but settled into peace as I closed her eyes and composed her limbs. “She was a rare old bird,” said Corson when I had done, “but there was some good in her, after all.” “She has been a good friend to me,” I said, and we called a servant from below and left the gruesome room to his guardianship. “And now, there's another little job to be done. There's one of my men a prisoner down on Davis Street. I must get him out.” “I'm with you, sor,” said Corson heartily. “I'm hopin' there's some heads to be cracked.” I had not counted on the policeman's aid, but I was thankful to accept the honest offer. In the restaurant I found five of my men, and with this force I thought that I might safely attempt an assault on the Den. The Den was a low, two-story building of brick, with a warehouse below, and the quarters of the enemy, approached by a narrow stairway, above. “Step quietly,” I cautioned my men, as we neared the dark and forbidding entrance. “Keep close to the shadow of the buildings. Our best chance is in a surprise.” There was no guard at the door that stood open to the street, and we halted a moment before it to make sure of our plans. “It's a bad hole,” whispered Corson. “A fine place for an ambush,” I returned dubiously. “Well, there's no help for it,” said the policeman. “Come on!” And drawing his club and revolver he stole noiselessly up the stairs. I felt my way up step by step, one hand against the wall and my shoes scraping cautiously for a resting-place, while my men followed in single file with the same silent care. But in spite of this precaution, we were not two-thirds the way up the flight before a voice shot out of the darkness. “Who's there?” We stopped and held our breath. There was a minute of silence, but it was broken by the creak of a board as one of the men shifted his weight. “There's some one here!” cried the voice above us. “Halt, or I'll shoot! Peterson! Conn! Come quick!”