inst a score it availed
little. And a full score were advancing. The ungainly, stubby forms seemed
to rise from every crevice in the floor.

They came very slowly at first--a dirty cohort of khaki Hanoverians;
their muzzles uplifted and quivering at the scent of blood, their beady
eyes fixed seemingly on vacancy, but really on himself. He felt them
coming, and, for a moment, paused in his attack. The whole group might,
save for the restless nostrils, have been carved in stone; the duellists
eyeing each other warily, the scavenger ring waiting on events; but the
whiskers of each one trembled, and gave the whole group life.

It was the watchman's tread that broke the spell. The black rat knew
that tread well enough. He knew every tread in the warehouse; but to the
invaders it was unfamiliar. Before the footsteps had resounded twice, he
was left alone; the host had vanished as quickly as it came.

The black rat retreated in good order, and established himself once more
in a corner of the cellar. It was a mistake, but he wanted time to recover
himself, and time to think.

Of the world on the far side of the partition he knew nothing, but he
realized that there was a world. Should he make a rush for it before the
enemy had regained courage? Even so, where should he rush to? Was he
likely to find an exit amid altogether strange surroundings? Could he
block the hole? Rats had done such things before now, but it was only
deferring the evil hour, and what time would he have to do it in? The
question was answered for him. The echo of the watchman's step had barely
ceased, before the hole at the base of the door was, for a moment,
obscured.

They came in jerky disorder. First a young, loose-limbed stripling. He
was barely out before he was back again, throwing up the pink soles of
his hind feet, and flicking the woodwork with his belated tail. Then a
kaleidoscopic succession of suspicious faces. The light danced on the
floor as each thrust his neighbour aside, thrust his head like lightning
through the opening, and as quickly withdrew it. They were masters of
scouting, these brown barbarians. Sometimes one, bolder or younger than
the rest, would steal a foot within the cellar. Sometimes, for minutes
together, all would be quiet, the light patch on the floor the only thing
amiss. The black rat never moved his eyes from that light.

It was an hour before the chieftain himself appeared. He squeezed through
the opening, but, for