Directed by the voice, Paul rushed forward through the darkness, and with his left hand he clutched the fellow by the throat, intending to reduce him to submission by pressing the barrel of the pistol to his forehead. The uplifting of the fellow's arm sent the weapon flying from Paul's hand, and next moment the two men were grappling savagely together. The soldier, for Paul could tell that he was such by the feel of his uniform, was a powerful fellow, and desperation had now doubled his strength. He knew that the chamber-door was strong, and that the key was not in the hands of the sentinels outside; if he could overcome this present antagonist in the interval that must elapse before the key could be procured, there was a possibility of his escaping. He wrestled, therefore, with all the fury of a wild beast. Locked in each other's arms, the two men swayed backwards and forwards, and then fell, rolling over and over. Paul's cry, together with the noise of the scuffle, had attracted the notice of the guard posted at the end of the corridor leading to this chamber. The shouting of voices and the running of feet were heard on the other side of the door. "Ho! Lasco, off to the captain for the key. The devil's work is going on within. How have they managed to get inside? Ah, by the window! Melchior, up to the battlement, and cover the window with your rifle. See they escape not! Now, Lasco, dolt! dullard! slowbody! don't stand gaping there. Run for the key. The key, man, the key!" "The key _is_ here!" cried a deep, powerful voice. And above the oaths and gasps of his struggling opponent, Paul could hear Zabern's Hessian boots clattering along the corridor. "Lasco, quick! Yon lamp! hold it up!" cried the marshal. "Gabor and Melchior, as I open the door, rush in and cover them with your rifles. Now!" The key rattled in the lock; the massive door swung back upon its hinges, and the two sentinels, eager to learn what was taking place, rushed in with rifles levelled, ready to fire at any one who should offer resistance. They paused in blank amazement at beholding by the light of the lamp one of their own corps stretched supine and panting, with Paul Woodville above pinning him to the floor by the throat. "Why, it's Michael!" cried Gabor. Even in the midst of his excitement Paul observed that Zabern was carrying in his hand a sheet of paper which he recognized as his translation of the cipher despatch. "In time, thank heaven!" murmured the marshal, from which remark Paul concluded that the mission of the traitor-sentinel was connected in some way with Orloff's letter. "Gabor, Lasco, Melchior, leave us. Close the door; retire to the far end of the corridor, and on your lives stir not from that spot till I call." The three sentinels retired. "Good-night to Michael!" whispered Gabor to his two comrades. "We shall never see him again. I know that look in the marshal's eye."