"Fagin, I know you, but I am not afraid of you. I know you for a cruel, cold-blooded murderer, an outrager of women, a thief, and an outlaw. No, you cannot stop me now. You are a low-down cowardly cur, making war on women and children, sneaking around in the paths of armies, plundering and looting the helpless. I despise you and every man associated with you. Neither you, nor all your company, can make me marry Captain Grant. I will die first. No, don't move, and don't think you are dealing with a frightened girl. I am desperate enough, but I can act--" "Hell! Jones, take that hell-cat by the arms!" "Jones will do nothing of the kind--and you--stand back, Fagin; don't dare to lay a hand on me again!" Her face was white, her lips set, her eyes blazing, but Fagin, assured of her helplessness, laughed, and stepped forward. From what hidden concealment it came I know not, but there was the flash of a polished barrel, a sharp report, the whirl of smoke, and the brute went backward over a chair, crashing to the floor, with hands flung high over his head. I was aware of the swift rush of a body past me, of steps going up the stairs, and then, with a yell, my men poured out from the library into the hall. CHAPTER XXXV THE FIGHT IN THE HALL Scarcely comprehending that Claire had escaped from the room, I was swept forward by the onrush of bodies. The preacher was knocked headlong beneath the table, but Fagin lay motionless underfoot. Jones and Grant turned to a door at the right, and I leaped after them. One of the two fired, and the ball struck my shoulder, the impact throwing me back against one of my men. An instant I felt sick and dizzy, yet realized I was not seriously hurt, and managed to stagger to my feet. The door was closed and locked, and, although my head reeled, I began to think clearly. "The other way, lads!" I cried. "Quick, into the hall!" We tumbled out through the narrow entrance, and I found myself next to Eric. But we were too late to head off the fugitives, or prevent their achieving their purpose. In through the rear door, confused as to what had occurred, yet shouting fiercely, poured Fagin's wolves, seeking trouble. They were a wild, rough-looking lot, ill-dressed, and dirty even in that dim light. For an instant, congested within the limits of the hallway, both sides paused, staring at each other in mutual surprise and hesitation. Then I heard Jones's bellow of command, and Grant's nasal voice profanely ordering them to come on. With us there remained no choice; we must fight it out where we were, regardless of numbers. "Fire! you damned fools--fire!" roared Jones, and there was a crashing of guns, the dense smoke swirling between us. A Dragoon at my right went sprawling; another behind gave vent to a yell as he plunged head first down the basement stairs. There was the sound of splintering wood, of breaking glass. I felt the blood in my veins leap to the fever of it.