Two men seized him, but he fought madly and dashed into the room. There the third man headed him off and the two others fell upon him from behind; his slim body wriggled loose, however, and he fell across the table already overturned by the intruders in their search for Pan Andrew’s treasure, and clung there with ferociousness to the upturned legs. He kicked, he bit, he struck out blindly—but they tore him loose just as Peter set the prize on the floor to take the man in hand himself. The lantern rested on the floor behind him, and as the struggling men swung toward him, Stas, shot with a brilliant idea, worked a leg loose and kicked the lantern over. As it fell the door swung open and the candle went out. Almost instantly, however, the ruffians closed their grip upon him and hustled him to the door. Over the rail he would have gone without further ceremony had not there come the sudden screaming of a girl from the floor above. “The plague upon them all,” exclaimed Peter, dropping Stas. “Here everything is as smooth as water in a lake, then all of a sudden babies and fools raise the dead with their cries. Come, we have enough—let us get out of this at once.” He groped his way back to Pan Andrew’s bed, and was feeling in the dark for the precious thing that was the object of his raid, when there came a crash like that of thunder from above, and through the open door appeared a terrible red light that seemed to come from the sky and enveloped everything for the moment in a garment of red. CHAPTER X THE EVIL ONE TAKES A HAND Peter rushed to the door and stood, staring. Balls of red fire were shooting out into the air from the opened casement of the room in the loft, flooding the place with light as they burst with terrific explosions. In the light Peter could see his men standing horror-struck, four below him at the bottom of the stairs, and four on guard at the door. Those who had been clinging to Stas on the landing had recoiled in fright before the fiery balls, and the half-wit had seized the opportunity to slink stealthily away through their legs, and make for the lower steps. For a moment Peter stood motionless. In bodily things he was braver than the brave, but in the face of such magic as this he was a coward; yet though he trembled, he realized that he must play a man’s part if he wished to keep the leadership of his band, and accordingly, spurring himself up to a pitch of bravado, he rushed up the stairs from the second floor to the third and stood there just as another bomb soared out into the air. “Come back! Come back!” they were shouting from below. “Come up! Come up!” he commanded. “What are you frightened of?” “It is the Evil One, himself!” Peter shook his curved Cossack sword in the darkness. “Come up—come up, I tell you, you cowardly dogs—come up or I’ll separate your coward heads from your useless bodies. Come up, I say—come up!”