The old man had been pulling a bell-rope with all his might during this brief struggle, and the shrill clang of the bell sounded through the empty house, sounded even above the shrill shriek of the wind in the chimney. Ferdinand Sivewright looked about him, dazed for an instant by that sudden loss of blood, and with the wild fierce gaze of a trapped animal. So had Lucius seen a wolverine stare at his captors from the imprisonment of a timber trap. He looked round him, listened to the bell, caught the sound of footsteps in the corridor, then with a sudden rush across the room, threw himself with all the force of his full weight against the oaken panel. The feeble old wood cracked and splintered as that muscular form was flung against it, and that side of the room rocked as the panel fell inwards. Another moment and Ferdinand Sivewright had disappeared—he was on the secret staircase—he had escaped them. Lucius made for the door. He might still be in time to catch this baffled assassin at the bottom of the staircase; but on the threshold he stopped, arrested by a sound of unspeakable horror. That end of the room by the broken panel still seemed to tremble; the wooden wall swayed inwards. Then came a sound like the roar of cannon; it was the fall of a huge beam that had sustained the wide old chimney shaft. That mighty crash was succeeded by a rushing noise from a shower of loose bricks and plaster; then one deep long groan from below, and all was silent. The room was full of dust, which almost blinded its occupants. There was a yawning gap in the splintered wainscot, where the sliding panel had been. Pharaoh had tumbled from his corner, and sprawled ignominiously on the floor. The huge square chimney, that ponderous relic of mediæval masonry, which had been the oldest portion of Cedar House, was down; and Ferdinand Sivewright lay at the bottom of the house, buried under the ruins of the secret staircase and the chimney of which it had been a part. CHAPTER V. ‘’TIS WITH US PERPETUAL NIGHT.’ They dug Ferdinand Sivewright out from under that pile of shattered brickwork and fallen timber, after labours that lasted late into the night. Help had not been far to seek amongst the good-natured Shadrackites. Stout navigators and stalwart stevedores had arisen as if by magic, spade and pickaxe had been brought, and the work of rescue had begun, as it seemed, almost before the echo of that thunderous sound of falling beam and brickwork had died out of the air. When Lucius rushed down-stairs he found the forecourt full of wind-driven lime-dust and crumbled plaster and worm-eaten wood that drifted into his face like powder, and a clamorous crowd at the iron gate eager to know if any one was under the ruins. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there’s a man yonder. Who’ll help me to dig him out?’ A chorus of eager voices rent the air. ‘Come, half a dozen of the strongest of you,’ said Lucius, unlocking the gate, ‘and bring picks and spades.’