most part, wide of the mark. Every moment Ellerey expected to be his
last; expected to feel the sharp thrust of a blade, or to fall into
sudden oblivion before the sound of the revolver shot had time to reach
his ears. Yet he still lived; fighting, struggling, being slowly spent
by the odds against him. Why did these murderers not end it? Were they
fearful of injuring a comrade in the darkness, or were they desirous
of not injuring him too severely? Indeed, it seemed so. Had he fallen
into a trap, baited with the frightened woman who had petitioned him
for help? The thought that he could have been such a fool, that so
transparent a device should have deceived him, maddened him, and he
redoubled his exertions to free himself, trying to drag his assailants
with him to the head of the stairs, so that he might fling himself and
them down, and chance regaining his liberty in the shock of the fall.
But the men appeared to perceive his motive, and redoubled their
efforts, too, straining every nerve to end the struggle. The man who
held him round the waist was dragged this way and that, yet never for
a moment relaxed his hold. Other hands were upon his legs now, and
Ellerey suddenly felt his feet drawn together with a snap. The next
instant he was thrown backward, knees were pressed upon his chest, his
arms were twisted and caught with a rope, his ankles bound together,
and he was helpless.

"I'd like to bury this knife in your cursed carcass," whispered a voice
in his ear.

"I've been expecting you to do so," said Ellerey, panting for breath.
"Why don't you?"

"I don't know. By Heaven, I don't know why not."