"Yes. I believe they will ransack the bungalow first. When they come, the Rajah is sure to be at their head, and--well, it's going to be diamond cut diamond between us two when we meet. I know the beggars and their superstition. If I get in the first shot, they will bolt. If _he_ does--" "You are going to shoot him down like a rat in a trap!" Beatrice burst out passionately. The others had already hurried on. With a gentle force he urged her to follow them. "Or be shot down myself," he said. "Leave me to do my duty as I think best." She met his grave eyes defiantly, but perhaps some instinct told her that he was risking his life for a poor chance--for their last chance, for without a word she turned away, apparently in the direction which her companions had already taken. As soon as she was out of sight, Nicholson recharged his smoking revolver, and stood there quietly waiting. His trained ear heard the firing in front of the bungalow cease. He knew then that his men were retiring to join Colonel Carmichael, and that he stood alone, the last barrier between death and those he loved. The sound of triumphant shouting drew nearer; he heard the wrenching and tearing of doors crashing down before an impetuous onslaught, the cling of steel, a howl of sudden satisfaction. His hand tightened upon his revolver; he stood ready to meet his enemy single-handed, to fight out the duel between man and man. But no one came. A bewildering silence had followed upon the last bloodthirsty cry. It was as though the hand of death had fallen and with one annihilating blow beaten down the approaching horde in the high tide of their victory. But of the two this strange stillness was the more terrible. It penetrated to the little waiting group in the old bungalow and filled them with the chill horror of the unknown. Something had happened--that they felt.