iceman, and at the nearer end of the street, not fifty yards from
them, were three other prostrate forms. But these forms were animate,
and alive to good purpose. From a public-house on the corner a row of
yellow lamps showed them clearly. Stretched on pieces of board, and mats
commandeered from hallways and cabs, each of the three men lay at full
length, nursing a rifle. Their belted gray overcoats, flat, visored
caps, and the set of their shoulders marked them for soldiers.

"For the love of Heaven!" exclaimed Ford incredulously, "they've called
out the Guards!"

As unconcernedly as though facing the butts at a rifle-range, the
three sharp-shooters were firing point-blank at the windows from which
Prothero and Pearsall were waging their war to the death upon the
instruments of law and order. Beside them, on his knees in the snow, a
young man with the silver hilt of an officer's sword showing through the
slit in his greatcoat, was giving commands; and at the other end of
the street, a brother officer in evening dress was directing other
sharp-shooters, bending over them like the coach of a tug-of-war team,
pointing with white-gloved fingers. On the side of the street from which
Prothero was firing, huddled in a doorway, were a group of officials,
inspectors of police, fire chiefs in brass helmets, more officers of
the Guards in bear-skins, and, wrapped in a fur coat, the youthful Horne
Secretary. Ford saw him wave his arm, and at his bidding the cordon of
police broke, and slowly forcing its way through the mass of people came
a huge touring-car, its two blazing eyes sending before it great
shafts of light. The driver of the car wasted no time in taking up his
position. Dashing half-way down the street, he as swiftly backed the
automobile over the gutter and up on the sidewalk, so that the lights
in front fell full on the door of No. 40. Then, covered by the fire from
the roofs, he sprang to the lamps and tilted them until they threw their
shafts into the windows of the third story. Prothero's hiding-place
was now as clearly exposed as though it were held in the circle of a
spot-light, and at the success of the maneuver the great mob raised an
applauding cheer. But the triumph was brief. In a minute the blazing
lamps had been shattered by bullets, and once more, save for the fierce
flashes from rifles and pistols, Sowell Street lay in darkness.

Ford drew Miss Dale back into the room.

"Those men below," he said, "a