The blood dripped from his fingers.

Then his chin went up as if some one was gripping the back of his neck.

He turned over slowly and rolled to the bottom of the stairs.
Then Paul raised his voice.
"Listen to me!" he said.
But he got no farther, for some one shot at him from the background, over the frantic heads of the others, and missed him.

The bullet lodged in the wall at the head of the stairs, in the jamb of the gorgeous door-way.

It is there to-day.
There was a yell of hatred, and an ugly charge toward the stairs; but the sight of the two revolvers held them there--motionless for a few moments.