"You'll never get away, Templar! I made sure of that when I anchored the trap. But you can try…"
His hands pawed again at the girl's dress.
"But you, Jill," he crooned — "Jill! Such a pretty name, Jill! Pretty Jill — do you still hate me? You shouldn't hate me…"
The Saint worked frantically.
The icy water in which he was half immersed did more than cover his movements. The chill of it stung his aching wearied body into new life.
He found a key that fitted, and felt a fresh surge of hope.
Jill Trelawney had not once cried out. She had not spoken. She had not even answered his encouragement. But as the key he tried turned in the lock, and the steel jaws snapped away from his ankle, he heard her choke back a little moan.
The sound made him forget that for half an hour his left ankle had been locked in the crushing grip of Essenden's man trap. He tried to leap at Essenden, and felt stupidly surprised when his leg gave under him and sent him sprawling.
Essenden whipped round in a flash.
"So you've got loose!"