The sharp rattle of firearms in the distance brought a sudden stop to his lugubrious reflections. Five, a dozen--a score of shots were heard. The blood turned cold in the veins of every one in the garden; faces blanched suddenly and all voices were hushed; a form of paralysis seized and held them for a full minute. Then the voice of Britt below broke harshly upon the tense, still air: "Good God! Look! It is the bungalow!" A bright glow lighted the dark mountain side, a vivid red painted the trees; the smell of burning wood came down with the breezes. Two or three sporadic shots were borne to the ears of those who looked toward the blazing bungalow. "They've killed Chase!" burst from the stiff lips of Bobby Browne. "Damn them!" came up from below in Britt's hoarse voice. CHAPTER XIX CHASE COMES FROM THE CLOUDS For many minutes, the watchers in the château stared at the burning bungalow, fascinated, petrified. Through the mind of each man ran the sudden, sharp dread that Chase had met death at the hands of his enemies, and yet their stunned sensibilities refused at once to grasp the full horror of the tragedy. Genevra felt her heart turn cold; then something seemed to clutch her by the throat and choke the breath out of her body. Through her brain went whirling the recollection of his last words to her that afternoon: "They'll find me ready if they come for trouble." She wondered if he had been ready for them or if they had surprised him! She had heard the shots. Chase could not have fired them all. He may have fired once--perhaps twice--that was all! The fusilade came from the guns of many, not one. Was he now lying dead in that blazing--She screamed aloud with the thought of it! "Can't something be done?" she cried again and again, without taking her gaze from the doomed bungalow. She turned fiercely upon Bobby Browne, his countryman. Afterward she recalled that he stood staring as she had stared, Lady Deppingham clasping his arm with both of her hands. The glance also took in the face of Deppingham. He was looking at his wife and his eyes were wide and glassy, but not with terror. "It may not be too late," again cried the Princess. "There are enough of us here to make an effort, no matter how futile. He may be alive and trapped, up--" "You're right," shouted Browne. "He's not the kind to go down with the first rush. We must go to him. We can get there in ten minutes. Britt! Where are the guns? Are you with us, Deppingham?" He did not wait for an answer, but dashed out of the garden and down the steps, calling to his wife to follow.