In the furiousness of his rage to throw off the shawl, Rutley’s hands became entangled in the net, and he shouted, “Oh, hell!”
Sam sprang upon him and wrenched the revolver from his hand. Then, as he leaped back a couple of paces, said to Rutley: “Hands up! It’s my turn now, old chappie!”
Rutley paid no heed to the command and at last cleared from the net with a snarl.
“He, he, he—a devil is toothless when hell is without fire!” Then with a fiendish leer, drew the knife from his breast pocket. “Damn you!” said he, crouching for a spring on Sam, “you’ve crossed my path once too often!”
Swiftly Sam looked at the revolver and exclaimed with deep chagrin, “Empty!” He, however, gripped it by the muzzle and prepared for the encounter.
The men slowly circled each other for an opening. Suddenly they clinched, and in the struggle Sam was fortunate to seize Rutley’s knife hand.
It was then that Virginia again proved her great courage and resourcefulness. Watching her chance, she hooked her left forearm under Rutley’s chin about his throat, and simultaneously pressing her little right clenched fist against the small of his back, pulled his head backward, and screamed, “Help! Help!” [The act is a form of garrotte used in asylums and when resolutely applied quickly reduces the most powerful and refractory subject to submission.]
The suddenness of the attack and from such an unexpected quarter, accompanied by the choking pressure on his throat, caused Rutley to loosen his grip on the knife, which fell to the floor, and he exclaimed with a gurgling sound, “Oh, God!”
Sam instantly locked his arms around his body.
Rutley was powerless. His arms were firmly bound to his sides in a grip of iron. Meantime Smith stalked back and forth looking for trouble. He had arrived in front of the main entrance when the cry of “Help, help!” broke upon the still air. It proceeded from the second story of the house, and he at once recognized it as the voice of Virginia.