This seemed to turn the grim Irelander into a demon. Ethan, dazed by the shot, had sunk upon one knee; the dragoon stood over him playing his weapon with the speed of light and the rage of a Berserker. But even his great skill and matchless endurance would not have served to beat the crowd of ruffians off; they were closing about him in a circle and about beating him down when a sudden gleam of light shot into the archway, and a stern voice called: “What, you rascals! At them, men.” Ethan’s dazed eyes caught one glimpse of the evil faces as the rays of a flaring torch lit them up. The circle broke at once and the men turned swiftly; the next instant they were fighting frantically against a new sword and a brace of heavy clubs in the hands of two stout porters. With a gasp of delight Ethan saw that the new swordsman was Paul Jones; then all grew suddenly dark, and he pitched forward and fell upon his face. CHAPTER XVIII THE ROAD TO BREST The wound in Ethan Carlyle’s head was not a very severe one; so next day he was about, looking a trifle pale, and with a bandage about his brow, but almost as well as ever. When he came down from his room he found Longsword awaiting him. “How are ye?” asked the dragoon anxiously. “Just a little hazy in the head,” answered Ethan, “but that will pass in a few hours.” “Could ye stand a bit of news if it were broken to ye gently?” “I think so.” “Well, among those who were wounded in the fight last night was Siki.” “Ah!” “We have him here. We carried him on the same litter as yourself. He is willing to talk, so the captain says. They are only waiting for you.” “Take me to him.” Longsword promptly led the way into a room off that of Captain Jones’. They found that officer sitting at a table engaged in some correspondence; upon a couch was the lean form of the Lascar; his dark face was drawn with pain and his eyes roved about restlessly. Captain Jones sprang up as Ethan and the dragoon entered. “I’m delighted,” he said, grasping the lad’s hand. “You seemed to be resting so easily during the night, though, that I felt sure you would be all right by morning.” “Thank you,” said Ethan. Then nodding toward the Lascar he continued, “And so we took a prisoner?” “Yes,” smiled the officer, “and rather an important one, too; he will tell you many things that will surprise you.” Siki raised himself upon one elbow and broke in. “But, what will be the good if you don’t act? You must hurry. The dispatch will be in England in two days if the wind is good.” “What do you mean?” asked Ethan. “I mean that Fochard is even now preparing to cross the channel to deliver the papers to Danvers.” The man spoke English now; and upon hearing his words Longsword asked quickly: “Why did ye attack us last night?”