the upper story. The whole pavilion, it was plain, had gone alight

like a box of matches, and now not only flamed sky-high to land and

sea, but threatened with every moment to crumble and fall in about

Northmour and I cocked our revolvers. Mr. Huddlestone, who had

already refused a firearm, put us behind him with a manner of

"Let Clara open the door," said he. "So, if they fire a volley,

she will be protected. And in the meantime stand behind me. I am

the scapegoat; my sins have found me out."