There was an answer this time, but not at all what she had expected. One of the fellows fired a pistol and the bullet pierced the thin panel and went dangerously near her head. I pulled her across to a spot where she would be safe from a chance shot. Only just in time, for half a dozen shots were fired in quick succession. She was going to speak again, but I stopped her with a gesture; and then extinguished one of the two candles by which the room was lighted. A long pause followed the shots, as if the scoundrels were listening to learn the effect of the firing. In the silence the man in the corner groaned, and I heard the key turned in the lock as some one tried to push the door open. I drew out my weapon. “You will not shoot them, Mr. Donnington?” exclaimed my companion under her breath. “Doesn’t this man Barosa know your voice?” I whispered. “Of course.” “Then he isn’t there,” I said grimly. I raised my voice and called loudly: “Don’t you dare to enter. I’ll shoot the first man that tries to.” Then to my companion: “You’d better crouch down in the corner here. There’ll be trouble the instant they are inside.” But she had no lack of pluck and shook her head disdainfully. “You must not fire. If you shoot one of these men you will not be safe for an hour in the city.” “I don’t appear to be particularly safe as it is,” I answered drily. There was another pause; then a vigorous shove broke the chair I had placed to the door and half a dozen men rushed in. As I raised my arm to fire, my companion caught it and stopped me. For the space of a few seconds the scoundrels stared at us, their eyes gleaming in vicious malice and triumph. I read murder in them. “Throw your weapon on the table there,” ordered one of them. Then a thought occurred to me. I made as if to obey; but, instead of doing anything of the sort, I extinguished the remaining candle, grabbed my companion’s arm, drew her to the opposite side of the room and, pushing her into a corner, stood in front of her. And in the pitchy darkness we waited for the ruffians to make the first move in their attack. CHAPTER III THE RECEPTION The effect of my impulse to extinguish the light in the room was much greater than I had anticipated. It proved to be the happiest thought I had ever had; for I am convinced that it saved my life, and probably that of my companion. The average Portuguese of the lower class is too plugged with superstition ever to feel very happy in the dark. He is quick to people it with all sorts of impalpable terrors. And these fellows were soon in a bad scare. For a few moments the wildest confusion prevailed. Execrations, threats, cries of anger, and prayers were mingled in about equal proportions; and every man who had a pistol fired it off. At least, that appeared to be the case, judging by the number of shots. As they aimed at the corner where they had seen us, however, nothing resulted except a waste of ammunition.