drip, drip from his victim's wrists with a dreadful joy.

They were man and man, but O'Ryan found in this grisly contest a vaster
trial of strength than in the fight upon the stage a few hours ago. The
first lunge that Vigon made struck him on the tip of the shoulder, and
drew blood; but he caught the hand holding the knife in an iron grasp,
while the half-breed, with superhuman strength, tried in vain for the
long brown throat of the man for whom he had struck oil. As they
struggled and twisted, the eyes of the victim in the chair watched them
with agonised emotions. For him it was life or death. He could not cry
out--his mouth was gagged; but to O'Ryan his groans were like a distant
echo of his own hoarse gasps as he fought his desperate fight. Terry was
as one in an awful dream battling with vague impersonal powers which
slowly strangled his life, yet held him back in torture from the final
surrender.

For minutes they struggled. At last O'Ryan's strength came to the point
of breaking, for Vigon was a powerful man, and to this was added a
madman's energy. He felt that the end was coming. But all at once,
through the groans of the victim in the chair, Terry became conscious of
noises outside--such noises as he had heard before he entered the house,
only nearer and louder. At the same time he heard a horse's hoofs, then
a knock at the door, and a voice calling: "Jopp! Jopp!"

He made a last desperate struggle, and shouted hoarsely.

An instant later there were footsteps in the room, followed by a cry of
fright and amazement.

It was Gow Johnson. He had come to warn Constantine Jopp that a crowd