Suddenly the silence was broken by the noise of a furious scuffle, followed by a shriek of pain, and, concealment being no longer necessary, the brothers dashed downstairs. My uncle led in the race, but, tripping over a man's body, he lay half-stunned, while my father, who followed more cautiously, narrowly escaped the same fate. Then some one rushed quickly through the hall and began to fumble with the lock of the front door, and, as the door was thrown violently open, there was a blinding flash from the vicinity of the floor, followed by another yell of pain, and the pungent smell of gunpowder filled the air. "That's settled his hash, Howard," I heard my uncle exclaim. "Get a light and see what we are up to." I made for the dining-room to light the lamp, and as I crossed the hall my bare feet stepped in a pool of warm liquid. With trembling fingers I struck a match and lighted the lamp, and, returned to the scene of the struggle. My uncle was leaning against the wall, the still smoking revolver in his hand, and my father was leaning over a motionless figure huddled at the foot of the stairs, while a stream of blood, through which I had stepped, slowly welled across the floor. "The man has been stabbed!" exclaimed Uncle Herbert. "Whatever does it mean?" "Get another light--a hurricane lamp, there's one in the kitchen--and run the other man down. You winged him right enough, Herbert; he can't be far away." The light was procured, and following a well-defined trail outside the door, we ran the other burglar to earth, in a shrubbery close to the garden gate. Simultaneously, my uncle and I recognised him--it was the Brazilian seaman who had tried to stab my uncle on the wreck, and whom I had seen lying on the cliff path. While my uncle covered him with a revolver, for he snarled viciously like a wounded animal at bay, my father relieved him of his knife, and, lifting him by their combined efforts, they carried him into the house; but before reaching the door he had fainted. "He's shot through the fleshy part of his right leg," said my father. "Just put on a temporary bandage till we can attend to the other beauty. Whatever made them fight each other like that, I wonder?" "I don't know," replied my uncle, ripping the man's trousers with a penknife and winding a long strip of linen round the wound, for the bullet had cut a clean hole right through the Brazilian's leg. "But you see there is something very mysterious in the manner in which this scoundrel has followed me up." "Now for the other man," exclaimed my father. "I am afraid he has been badly hurt. Why, Herbert, you have had a gash yourself--look!" "Pooh! A mere nothing. I hardly felt it." "But it's bleeding pretty freely." "Yes, the Brazilian made a jab at me as he broke away. But who's this?"