"No," she admitted; "only I felt a little curious to know, now that everything is over. It _is_, isn't it? There is nothing to be done?" "Oh yes," he replied with indomitable cheerfulness. "There is always something to be done." "A chance?" she whispered incredulously. "A chance of escape, you mean?" "It is possible," he said. "At least, I will go and hear what they have to say." "No! no!" she cried out, as a dreadful scene rose to her imagination. "You cannot understand. Don't you hear that?... They would kill you." "I do not suppose that I shall find myself popular," he said with a smile, "but I will take care. You--I think you must stay here." "Cannot I come with you?" she pleaded. "See, I am armed." He took the tiny weapon that she drew from her dress and looked at it with gentle amusement. It was a pretty thing of ivory and nickeled steel, an elaborate toy. He pressed the action and shook out the half-dozen tiny loaded caps--they were little more than that--upon his palm. "I would rather that you did not use this upon a mob," he said, reloading it. "It would only exasperate, without disabling. As for stopping a rush--why, I doubt if one of these would stop a determined rabbit. You have better weapons than this." "I suppose you are right. Only it gave me a little confidence. Then you shall keep it for a memento, if you will." "No; it might hold off a single assailant, I suppose. I should value this much more, if I might have it." He touched a silk tie that she had about her neck, as he spoke; it was one that she had often worn. She held up her head for him to disengage it. "Some day," he said, lingering a little over the simple operation, "you will understand many things, Irene." "I think that I understand everything now," she replied with a brave glance. "Everything that is worth understanding." He placed the folded tie in an inner pocket, and went down the stone steps without another word. The well was thick with smoke, but the fire had not yet spread beyond the lower rooms. Half-way down he encountered a barricade of light office furniture which the girl had flung across the stairs and drenched with oil. It was no obstacle in itself, but at the touch of a match it would have sprung into a conflagration that would have held the wildest mob at bay for a few precious moments. He picked his way through it, descended the remaining stairs, and unlocked the outer door. Beyond this was an iron curtain that had been lowered. A little door in it opened directly on to the half-dozen steps that led down to Seaton Street. Salt looked through a crevice of the iron curtain, and listened long enough to learn that there was no one on the upper steps; for the upper steps, indeed, commanded no view of the windows, and the windows were the centres of all interest. Satisfied on this point, he quietly unlocked the door and stepped out. CHAPTER XX STOBALT OF SALAVEIRA