“Very well,” came in French and in a man’s voice from the other side of the door. Byrne advanced to the door and opened it, therefore, and was going through when a bludgeon beat down upon him. Byrne reeled back, raising his left arm to shield off another blow; he tried to strike back with his left arm and grapple his assailant; but with his right, he still held to Ruth as though she would seize this chance to escape; and yet, at the same time, Ruth felt that he was protecting her with his body before hers. “Let me go!” she jerked to be free. “I’ll--help you!” He did not mean to let her go when she struggled free; he was still trying to hold to her and also fight the man who was beating at him. But her getting free, let him close with his assailant and grapple with him. They spun about and went down, rolling over and over in the débris. Ruth grabbed up a bit of iron pipe from among the wreckage on the floor; and she bent over trying to strike at the man with the bludgeon. “Help!” she called out. “_Secours!_” She knew now that the man who had waited outside was no mere defender of the house; the treachery and the violence of his attack could not be explained by concern for safety of that ruin. Ruth could not think who the man might be or what was his object except that he was fighting to kill, as he struck and fought with Byrne on the floor. And Byrne, knowing it, was fighting to kill him, too. “_Secours!_” Ruth screamed for help again and with her bit of iron, she struck--whom, she did not know. But they rolled away and pounded each other only a few moments more before one overcame the other. One leaped up while the other lay on the floor; the one who had leaped up, crouched down and bludgeoned the other again; so that Ruth knew that Byrne was the one who lay still. She screamed out again for help while she flung herself at the man who was bending over. But he turned about and caught her arms and held her firmly. He bent his head to hers and whispered to her while he held her. “_Weg!_” The whisper warned her. It was German, “Away!” And the rest that he said was in German. “I have him for you struck dead! Careful, now! Away to Switzerland!” He dropped Ruth and fled; she went after him, breathless, trying to cry out; but her cries were weak and unheard. He ran through the rear of the house into a narrow alley down which he disappeared; she went to the end of the alley, crying out. But the man was gone. She stopped running at last and ceased to call out. She stood, swaying so that she caught to a railing before a house to steady herself. The words of the whisper ran on her lips. “I have him for you struck dead!”