The bluster of the storm had effectually drowned any noise of the disturbance except for those who had heard Peter's cry for help. Among them was Baxter. At a glance, he had taken in the position of affairs.
Nor did he hesitate for a moment. Breaking into a run, he dashed across the hall toward a wall where hung a heavy sword, an heirloom that had not been used for a hundred years. Before he could be stopped he tore it from its fastenings and started toward the nearest of the ruffians, who brought him to a standstill with a revolver.
The leader noted his progress, and turned about and cried, "Keep that man away. If he moves another foot--shoot!"
Baxter threw one contemptuous glance at Boris (for it was he) and came on. The man hesitated to fire.
"Fire! you fool," shouted Boris, but the man still held his hand and hesitated so long that Baxter had gripped the barrel of his revolver in his left hand before the fellow quite realized what was happening.
If the man had scruples, Boris had none. His revolver spoke quickly, and Baxter, with a little cough, fell forward on his face.
Turning from his butcher's work, Boris whipped round to meet the terror-stricken eyes of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch.
"It is not my fault," he said, "that you have been compelled to look on this."
"Gentlemen," he cried, "I have no desire to create further disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well."
Turning for a second to Peter, he said, "Get back to the corner of the room."
Boris next proceeded to deal with the others.
"All of you," he said in a tone of easy command, "all of you get back into the corner, except Mademoiselle."
He watched the retreat through his mask, and when all had crowded together at the end of the room he gave them further orders.
"Let no man move," said he, "if he desires to see another day-break. And if one of you stirs for a quarter of an hour after we leave this room, he will be shot down from yonder window like a dog."
"Now, Mademoiselle," he cried, almost gaily, "take the arm of my fascinating friend here. He will escort you out."
Natalie did not move. Instead she faced him with flaming eyes, the very picture of defiance, and stood there, looking scornfully at Boris and his men.