re mad. Prothero's always been mad, and
your Pearsall is mad with drugs. And the sight of blood has made them
maniacs. They know they now have no chance to live. There's no fear
or hope to hold them, and one life more or less means nothing. If they
should return here----"

He hesitated, but the girl nodded quickly. "I understand," she said.

"I'm going to try to break down the door and get to the roof," explained
Ford. "My hope is that this attack will keep them from hearing, and----"

"No," protested the girl. "They will hear you, and they will kill you."

"They may take it into their crazy heads to do that, anyway," protested
Ford, "so the sooner I get you away, the better. I've only to smash the
panels close to the bolts, put my arm through the hole, and draw the
bolts back. Then, another blow on the spring lock when the firing is
loudest, and we are in the hall. Should anything happen to me, you must
know how to make your escape alone. Across the hall is a door leading to
an iron ladder. That ladder leads to a trap-door. The trap-door is open.
When you reach the roof, run westward toward a lighted building."

"I am not going without you," said Miss Dale quietly; "not after what
you have done for me."

"I haven't done anything for you yet," objected Ford. "But in case I get
caught I mean to make sure there will be others on hand who will."

He pulled his pencil and a letter from his pocket, and on the back of
the envelope wrote rapidly: "I will try to get Miss Dale up through the
trap in the roof. You can reach the roof by means of the apartment house
in Devonshire Street. Send men to meet her."

In the groups of officials half hidden in the doorway farther down the
street, he could make out the bandaged head of Cuthbert. "Cuthbert!" he
called. Weighting the envelope with a coin, he threw it into the air. It
fell in the gutter, under a lamp-post, and full in view, and at once
the two madmen below splashed the street around it with bullets. But,
indifferent to the bullets, a policeman sprang from a dark areaway and
flung himself upon it. The next moment he staggered. Then limping, but
holding himself erect, he ran heavily toward the group of officials. The
Home Secretary snatched the envelope from him, and held it toward the
light.

In his desire to learn if his message had reached those on the outside,
Ford leaned far over the sill of the window. His imprudence was all but
fatal. From the roof opposite there