"Shoulder to shoulder, Hal!" said Charteris sharply. The moment so full of thought and action for Gerrard had for him been filled only with intensest listening for every movement of the enemies in front, and he had no idea of the foe behind. Something struck the edge of the doorpost as it passed through the slit left open, and Gerrard fired at the sound. Charteris jumped forward a little as the point of a long dagger grazed his shoulder, and the noise of the shot was followed by a choking cry in the passage. "Thanks, old boy. Ready, watch!" Charteris took the lantern from his pocket, and flashed it slowly round. Gerrard had a momentary impression of shining weapons and gleaming eyeballs, all apparently petrified into immobility by the sudden illumination. Before the enemy could take advantage of the light to spring, he had snatched the lantern from Charteris's hand, and set it on a little stone bracket, evidently left for some such purpose, above the doorway, so that the two Englishmen were in shadow, while their opponents were clearly visible. "Now, Bob, back to back!" he cried. Three of the armed men in front made at them at once, while Sher Singh and the others conferred in the background. Neither Gerrard nor Charteris had time to do more than notice this ominous confabulation, for their adversaries gave them plenty of work. They were as agile as cats, and the chance was small indeed of getting in a telling blow. One man went down with a bullet from Gerrard's revolver in his brain, but his place was instantly taken by one of those at the back, and the next few minutes saw several shots wasted. Suddenly another sound than the clash of arms struck on Gerrard's ear--the grinding noise made by the turning-stone. He had barely time to shout a warning to Charteris before a shot, sounding like the report of a cannon in the confined space, smashed and extinguished the lantern, and at the same moment two hands grasped his ankles and threw him into the middle of the floor, with Charteris--as he guessed by the clatter of a revolver on the ground--upon him. "Sahib, it is I--Rukn-ud-din," yelled a lamentable voice from the door. "Speak, that I may know where you are." Gerrard had just breath enough left to shout "Here!" and sufficient presence of mind to wriggle as far as he could when he had done it. The instant swish of a sword, delivered with such good will that it smashed on the stone floor where he had lain but a moment before, showed his wisdom, and he tried to roll out of the fray, but Charteris, who must have struck his head in falling, lay a dead weight across his legs. While he tried first to lift his friend, and then to drag himself from under him, a fierce battle was raging above and across their prostrate forms, and feet, bare or booted, trod upon or tripped over them. At length Charteris stirred and groaned, and Gerrard shook him desperately. "Bob, get up! Get off me, anyhow!"