inly unfair, unless the reporter had seen him at the
restaurant when Sarakoff drank the champagne. I was about to continue,
when a red brick suddenly landed neatly on my breakfast table, and
raised the number of articles on that table to one hundred and five.

There was a tinkle of falling glass; I looked up and saw that the
window was shattered. The muslin curtain in front of it had been torn
down by the passage of the brick, and the street without was visible
from where I sat. A considerable crowd had gathered on the pavement.
They saw me and a loud cry went up. The front door bell was ringing and
there was a sound of heavy blows that echoed through the house.

My housemaid came running into the room. She uttered a shriek as she saw
the faces beyond the window and ran out again. I heard a door at the
back of the house slam suddenly.

A couple of men, decently enough dressed, were getting over the area
rails with the intent of climbing in at the window. I jumped up and went
swiftly upstairs. So far I was calm. I entered Sarakoff's bedroom. It
was in darkness. The Russian was lying motionless on the bed. I shook
him by the shoulder. It seemed impossible to rouse him, and yet in
outward appearance he seemed only lightly asleep. I redoubled my efforts
and at length he opened his eyes, and his whole body, which had felt
under my hands as limp and flaccid as a pillow, suddenly seemed to
tighten up and become resilient.

"Get up," I said. "They're trying to break into the house. We may be in
danger. We can escape by the back door through the mews."

The blows on the front door were clearly audible.

"I've been listening to it for some time," he said. "But I seemed to
have lost the knack of waking up properly."

"We have no time to waste," I said firmly.

We went quickly downstairs. Sarakoff had flung a blue dressing-gown over
his pyjamas and thrust his feet into a pair of slippers. On reaching the
hall there was a loud crack and a roar of voices. In an instant the
agonizing fear swept over us. We dashed to the back of the house,
through the servants' quarters and out into the mews. Without pausing
for an instant we ran down the cobbled alley and emerged upon Devonshire
Street. We turned to the right, dashed across Portland Place and reached
Great Portland Street. We ran steadily, wholly mastered by the great
fear of physical injury, and oblivious to the people around us. We
passed the Underground Station. Our flight