It would have gone hard with me if he had ever reached me, for he was a large and powerful fellow, and my last shot was gone. But in the dark and smoky passage he stumbled over the prostrate body of the first desperado whom I had been fortunate enough to knock down, and fell sprawling at full length almost at my feet. With one leap I was on his back, and with a blow from the revolver I had quieted him, wrenched the knife from his hand, and had the point resting on his neck. Luella gave a scream. “Oh!” she cried, “are you hurt?” “No,” I said lightly, “but I don't think this gentleman is feeling very well. He's likely to have a sore head for a day or two.” “Come back here,” said Luella in a peremptory tone. “Those men may come again and shoot you.” “I don't think so,” said I. “The door is coming down. But, anyhow, I can't leave our friend here. Lie still!” I growled, giving the captive a gentle prod in the neck with the point of his knife to emphasize my desire to have peace and quiet between us. I heard him swear under his breath. The words were foreign, but there was no mistaking the sentiment behind them. “You aren't killing him are you?” inquired Luella anxiously. “I think it might be a service to the country,” I confessed, “but I'll save him for the hangman.” “You needn't speak so regretfully,” laughed Luella, with a little return of her former spirit. “But here our people come.” The ax had been plied steadily on the stubborn planks all through the conflict and its sequel. But the iron-bound beams and heavy lock had been built to resist police raids, and the door came down with difficulty. At last it was shaking and yielding, and almost as Luella spoke it swayed, bent apart, and broke with a crash, and with a babel of shouts Corson, Porter, Barkhouse and Wainwright, with two more policemen, poured through the opening. “Praise the powers, you're safe!” cried Corson, wringing my hand, while the policemen took the prostrate Chinese in charge. “And is the young lady hurt?” “No harm done,” said Luella. “Mr. Wilton is quite a general.” “I can't think what's got into the scoundrelly highbinders,” said Corson apologetically. “It's the first time I ever knew anything of the kind to happen.” And he went on to explain that while the Chinese desperado is a devil to fight among his own kind, he does not interfere with the white man. I called my men aside and spoke sharply. “You haven't obeyed orders,” I said. “You, Porter, and you, Barkhouse, were to keep close by me to-night. You didn't do it, and it's only by good luck that the young lady and I were not killed. You, Wainwright, were to follow Tom Terrill. I saw Terrill just now in a gang of Chinese, and you turn up on the other side of a barred door.” Porter and Barkhouse looked sheepish enough, but Wainwright protested: