He rose
up and stepped forward through the low bushes. Clare saw him first. A
little gasping cry broke from her. Imbrie spun round, and found himself
looking into the barrel of the policeman's Enfield. No sound escaped
from Imbrie. His lips turned back over his teeth like an animal's.

Stonor said, in a voice of deceitful softness: "Take your knife and cut
off a length of that line, say about ten feet."

No one could have guessed from his look nor his tone that an insane rage
possessed him; that he was fighting the impulse to reverse his gun and
club the man's brains out there on the rock.

Imbrie did not instantly move to obey.

"Look sharp!" rasped Stonor. "It wouldn't come hard for me to put a
bullet through you!"

Imbrie thought better of it, and cut off the rope as ordered.

"Now throw the knife on the ground."

Imbrie obeyed, and stepped towards Stonor, holding the rope out. There
was an evil glint in his eye.

Stonor stepped back. "No, you don't! Keep within shooting distance, or
this gun will go off!"

Imbrie stopped.

"Miss Starling," said Stonor. "Come and tie this man's wrists together
behind his back, while I keep him covered."

She approached, still staring half witlessly as if she saw an
apparition. She was shaking like an aspen-leaf.

"Pull yourself together!" commanded Stonor with stern kindness. "I am
not a ghost. I am depending on you!"

Her back straightened. She took the rope from Imbrie's hands, and passed
a turn around his extended wrists. Stonor kept his gun at the man's
head.

"At this range it would make a clean hole," he said, grinning.

To Clare he said: "Tie it as tight as you can. I'll finish the job."

When she had done her best, he handed his gun over and doubled the
knots. Forcing Imbrie to a sitting position, he likewise tied his
ankles.

"That will hold him, I think," he said, rising.

The words seemed to break the spell that held Clare. She sank down on
the stones and burst into tears, shaking from head to foot with
uncontrollable soft sobs. The sight unnerved Stonor.

"Oh, don't!" he cried like a man daft, clenching his impotent hands.

Imbrie smiled. Watching Stonor, he said with unnatural perspicacity:
"You'd like to pick her up, wouldn't you?"

Stonor spun on his heel toward the man. "Hold your tongue!" he roared.
"By God! another word and I'll brain you! You damned scoundrel! You
scum!"

If Imbrie had wished to provoke the other man to an outburst, he