cho.
From the distance came shrieks--women's voices--smothered.

"By God, we've got them," said Frank again.

And then a strange thing happened. Pete Murphy crooked his elbow up to
his face and burst into hysterical weeping.

All this time, the men were moving swiftly towards the Clubhouse. As
they approached, the sound inside grew in volume from a hum of terrified
whisperings accented by drumming wings, to a pandemonium of cries and
sobs and wails.

"They'll make a rush when we open the door, remember," Ralph reminded
them. His eyes gleamed like a cat's.

"Yes, but we can handle them," said Frank. "There isn't much nerve left
in them by this time."

"I say, boys, I can't stand this," burst out Billy. "Open the door and
let them out."

Billy's words brought murmured echoes of approval from Pete and Honey.

"You've got to stand it," Frank said in a tone of command. He surveyed
his mutinous crew with a stern look of authority.

"I can't do it," Honey admitted.

"I feel sick," Pete groaned.

Just then emerged from the pandemonium within another sound, curt and
sharp-cut, the crash against the door of something heavy.

"That door won't stand much of that," Frank warned. "They'll get out
before we know it."

The look of irresolution went like a flash from Billy's face, from
Honey's, from Pete's. The look of the hunter took its place, keen,
alert, determined, cruel.

"Keep close behind me," Frank ordered.

"When I open the door, push in as quick as you can. They'll try to rush
out."

Inside the vibrant drumming kept up. Mixed with it came screams more
sharp with terror. There came another crash.

Frank pounded on the door. "Stand back!" he called in a quiet tone of
authority as if the girls could understand. He fitted the key to the
lock, turned it, pulled the door open, leaped over the two broken chairs
on the threshold. The others followed, crowding close.

The rush that they had expected did not come.

Apparently at the first touch on the door, the girls had retreated to
the farthest corner. They stood huddled there, gathered behind Julia.
They stood close together, swaying, half-supporting each other, their
pinions drooped and trailing, their eyes staring black with horror out
of their white faces.

Julia, a little in front, stood at defiance. Her wings, as though
animated by a gentle voltage of electricity, kept lifting with a low
purring whirr. Half-way they struck the ceiling and dropped dead