The door at the
top of the steps yielded to their rush, the rotten woodwork giving,
and the door falling to the ground. Two or three pistol bullets
whizzed by their ears, just as they leapt through the opening.
"Up another floor, Hugh; and easy with the door."
The door at the top of the next ladder creaked heavily as they
pushed it back on its hinges.
"Look about, Hugh, for something to pile against it."
The shutters of the window were closed, but enough light streamed
through the chinks and crevices for them to see dimly. There was
odd rubbish strewn all about, and in one corner a heap of decaying
sacks. To these both rushed, and threw some on the floor by the
door, placing their feet on them to keep them firm, just as with a
rush the men came against it. This door was far stronger than the
one below, but it gave before the weight.
"The hinges will give," Hugh exclaimed; but at the moment Rupert
passed his thin rapier through one of the chinks of the rough
boards which formed it, and a yell was heard on the outside. The
pressure against the door ceased instantly; and Rupert bade Hugh
run for some more sacks, while he threw himself prone on them on
the ground.
It was well he did so, for, as he expected, a half-dozen pistol
shots were heard, and the bullets crashed through the woodwork.
"Keep out of the line of fire, Hugh."
Hugh did so, and threw down the sacks close to the door.
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