The stairs were too narrow for two men to fight side by side. Martin was a step or two below his companion, and it was no longer a fiddle bow which he held in his hand. It was doubtful whether he had ever used his bow so well as he used a sword to-night. Barbara leaned down. "I am here, Mr. Crosby. I came to warn you," she whispered. "I know the door. Tell Martin." She went up quickly. The clamp which held the door back at the head of the stairs was stiff, but with her weight thrown against the woodwork to ease the pressure she managed to unfasten it. The door creaked loudly as she drew it forward. Possibly Martin heard the noise, for a moment later he shouted, and he and Crosby rushed on to the landing. "Into the room, mistress," Martin whispered, as he swung the door to and shot the bolt. "It won't hold long, but long enough." Then he followed them quickly into his room and locked the door. Two men lay on the narrow stairs grievously hurt, and there was blood flowing from a cut on the face of another man as he threw himself against the door at the top, bent on settling a score rather than taking a rebel. He cursed and called to those below him. "It is a small matter," said Rosmore. "It shuts us out, but it shuts them in." "The door will not take much breaking down," said Sir John; "the rot of years must be in it." There was some delay while a heavy bar was found with which to attack the door, and a light to see by. The door at the head of the stairs soon yielded, but that of the room was another matter. It was of stout oak, and Sir John seemed to think that Martin might be persuaded to open it. "Martin! Martin!" he called, knocking as he did so. There was movement within, but no answer. "Martin! This riot is no concern of yours. Open! I have a message for you from Mistress Barbara." Again there was movement within, and someone spoke in a low voice, but Sir John got no answer. "Your madman is defiant," said Rosmore. "We shall have to teach him better manners. We must break in the door, Sir John." The first blow of the bar fell heavily, and there came a sudden answer, a quick sequence of notes--the laugh of the fiddle--then silence. Blow upon blow followed quickly, but there was no answering sound from within. "Beat where the lock is," said Rosmore. "It gives there, I think; and be on the defensive, Sir John. We have certainly one desperate man to deal with--I think two." With a crash the lock suddenly gave way, and the door swung open; but no rush of attack came out of the darkness. One man carried the light in and held it high above his head. There was no movement, no sound. The room was empty! CHAPTER XIII THE WAY OF ESCAPE "That was warm work while it lasted," said Martin as he locked the door. "They will easily break the first door, but this, at any rate, is good stout oak, and will keep them out for a little while. Wait; I will light a candle."