“Perhaps it may not go so bad with him,” said Drexel, desiring to comfort her. “If they have discovered all about him, his being Prince Valenko may make his fate lighter.” Freeman cut off her reply. “Is Borski then Prince Valenko?” he exclaimed, astounded. “The son of the military governor?” He did not wait for her answer. “Then you are the famous Princess Valenko!” he cried. “I am Princess Valenko,” she returned quietly. “Wonderful!” he ejaculated. “But all St. Petersburg thinks you are dangerously----” The expression of his amazement was cut short. The footsteps and low voices of the gendarmes sounded without. The four, all with pistols drawn, grimly waited the gendarmes’ action. It came in a moment. A heavy fist pounded on the door and a deep bass bellowed to them: “Open the door! Surrender!” Sonya caught Drexel’s arm. “Captain Nadson’s voice!” “Yes.” “If I’m captured he’ll recognise me, and I’ll have to face that charge of trying to kill Prince Berloff,” she said. “You’re that woman?” cried Freeman--and added fiercely in the same breath: “The person who tried to do that to Prince Berloff will not be taken while I’m alive!” “The gendarmes with him must be Nadson’s Hundred!” breathed Drexel. He said it with something like a shiver. For these men, as Sonya had told him, were thugs, ex-convicts, and many indeed had been taken directly from prison and forgiven their robbery or murder on condition that they undertake this service; and all were big, bold, merciless men. The fist again pounded. “Open that door!” roared the captain. The four said not a word. The next instant the door creaked and bent under the impact of heavy shoulders. And in the same instant Freeman’s pistol spat twice into the thin panels. There was a sharp cry. “Come--try it again!” taunted the terrorist. There was again silence without. “They’re planning some new attack,” said Sonya. They were--and it came the next moment. In the room on their right a window crashed. Freeman flung open the door and saw a burly figure scrambling through the broken sash. Again his pistol flashed. The gendarme went sprawling on the floor and did not move. “Come on--more of you!” shouted Freeman in savage joy. None of the gendarmes accepted the challenge to enter, but a bullet did and tore off half an ear. The terrorist did not flinch; but as the pistol flashed without, he fired at the flash. There was a cry of pain. He stepped to one side, out of range, but kept his pistol levelled at the window. “One more!” he called. With his lean, sardonic face, his lips curling away from his white teeth, he looked half devil. Again there was silence without--this time a longer silence. Then suddenly there was a crash at the door. A panel splintered out, and the end of a heavy pole burst through. At the same moment figures began to leap into the window on the right, and there was a splintering of glass on the floor above and a heavy thud against the window-sill.