He tore open the envelope with one long forefinger, and stooped to draw
forth the contents.

It was then that Keenan sprang at him. Frank at the moment, was
marveling at the unbroken continuity of evidence linking her with her
uncomprehending opponent.

The sudden leap and cry of Keenan sent a tingle of apprehension up and
down her body. She asked herself, vaguely, if all the rest of her life
was to be made up of this brawling and fighting in unlighted chambers
of horror; if, now that they were in the more turgid currents for which
they had longed, there were to come no moments of peace amid all their
tumult and struggling.

Then she drew in her breath with a little gasp, for she saw Pobloff,
with a quick writhe of his thin body, free his imprisoned right arm,
and strike with the metal butt of his revolver.

He struck twice, three times, and the sound of the metal on the
unprotected head was sickening to the listening woman. She staggered
to the closet door as the man fell to the floor, stunned.

"Jim! Oh, Jim, quick!--he's killing him!--I tell you he's killing him!"

Durkin said "'Ssssh!" under his breath, and waited.

For in the dim half-light they could see that the Russian had ripped
open Keenan's coat and vest, and from a double-buttoned pocket on the
inside of the inner garment was drawing out a yellow manila envelope,
the fellow to that which had already been thrust into his hands. It
was then that Durkin sprang forward.

Pobloff saw him advance. He had only time to reverse his hold on the
little gun-metal revolver and fire two shots.

The first shot went wide, tearing deep into the plastered wall. The
second cut through the flap of his assailant's coat-pocket, just over
the left hip, scattering little flecks of woollen cloth about. But
there was no time for a third shot.

It seemed brutal to Frank, but she allowed herself time for neither
thought nor scruples. All she remembered was that it was
necessary--though once again she asked herself if all her life, from
that day on, was to be made up of brawling and fighting.

For Durkin had brought down on the half-turned head the up-poised
bedroom chair with all his force. Pobloff, with a little inarticulate
cry that was almost a grunt, buckled and pitched forward.

"That settles _you_!" the stooping man said, heartlessly, as he watched
him relax and half roll on his side.

Frank watched him, too, but with no sense of triumph or success, w