“And now a last good-bye,” she said. “No!” he cried. “We shall go down together!” “You have promised,” she returned.... “Good-bye.” “Good-bye,” he whispered brokenly. She bent again to his lips, then stepped out upon the stair-landing. “I surrender!” her clear voice called loudly, steadily. And Drexel, breaking his promise so far as to watch her to the last through the crack of the door, saw the captain appear, and saw her slender, noble figure move calmly toward him down the dead-strewn stairs. CHAPTER XX THE SPY As Sonya came to the foot of the stairs Drexel saw Captain Nadson start. “God!” he ejaculated joyously. “The woman that tried to kill Berloff!” He seized her shoulder roughly with his uninjured hand. “I did not think we were going to get that prize, too! Well, my lady, you’ll not escape this time!” Drexel flared with the desire to rush down and throttle the burly beast. One minute more, and he would be free of his promise to Sonya. “Where is that foreigner?” continued the captain. “Isn’t he coming out?” “He is wounded,” said Sonya. “Here--men!” he roared. “Up with you and get him!” As half a dozen of the gendarmes lunged in, Drexel saw Sonya deftly knock over the hallway’s single lamp. It went out as it fell, and the hall was darkness, save for the faint light that the snow caught from the lurid blaze and threw in at the door. Drexel now had an inkling of what was in Sonya’s mind: there was no chance for her, but for him there was a fighting chance, and that chance she was striving to give him. As the men rushed up the stairway, swearing as they stumbled over dead comrades, Drexel flattened himself against the wall. Though the fire roared in the farther room, this room was black, and on this blackness hung his chance. The men surged through the door. With high-beating heart Drexel stepped forth and mixed among them. They did not note that they had been joined by another man. They cursed the blackness and sought their wounded prey by kicking about the floor. None kicked more ruthlessly than Drexel. “He’s not in here,” growled one of the men. “Let him roast--that’s as good as killing,” said another. “I’m not going to stay in here. It’s too hot and smoky for me.” “And for me,” growled Drexel, coughing. “I’m going.” He walked out and started down the stairs, the other complainant at his heels. “One of you bring up a lantern,” was shouted after them. Drexel thought of the story that lantern would reveal: the coatless gendarme and his own discarded coat. “You do it,” he said to his fellow, again coughing. “I’m choking.” He hurried out into the open air. Ahead of him he saw the captain, and he put his hand to his face as though to shield it from the scorching heat. “What’s the matter?” Nadson demanded. Drexel coughed violently. “I can’t stand it,” he gasped in a muffled voice.