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, with no emotion but slowly awakening disgust, against which she found it useless to struggle. She watched him with a sense of detachment and aloofness, as if looking down on him from a great height, while he tore upon the manila envelope and gave vent to a little cry of satisfaction. They at last possessed the Penfield securities. Then she went over and replenished the waning flame in the alcohol lamp.
"We've got to get away from here now," said Durkin quickly. "And the sooner the better!"
She looked about her, a little helplessly. Then she glanced at Keenan. "See, he's coming to!"
"Are you ready?" Durkin demanded sharply.
"Yes," she answered, in her dead and resigned voice, as she took up her hat and coat. "But where are we going?"
"I'll tell you on the way down. Only you must get what you want, and hurry!"
"But is it safe now?" she demurred, "and for you?"