down in a pool of water which the darkness had hidden from view.
By this time, however, Matt Gory had again arisen and as one of the rascals made for me, the Irishman threw him backward with such a shock that his dagger flew some distance from his hand. In a twinkle Gory had secured the weapon.
"Now thin, run, ye haythins, or Oi'll be afther carvin' yez into bits!" he bawled, and made such a determined lunge at one of the Spaniards that he did run for his very life, leaving his tattered shawl behind him.
The racket in the alleyway had aroused Harry Longley, as well as several others residing in the neighborhood. An upper window was blocked up, and Longley inquired, in Spanish, as to what was the row.
"Help us, Longley!" cried Dan. "It is Oliver Raymond, Dan Holbrook, and an Irish friend. We have been attacked by thieves!"
"You!" burst out the clerk. "Come to the door and I'll let you in."
The clerk disappeared and we heard him run downstairs, and there followed the scraping of a key in a lock. As the door fell back Longley appeared, pistol in hand.
"Begone, or I'll fill you full of holes!" he shouted, in Spanish.
"Caramba! The game is up!" came from one
