"I have so," said the Saint.
He had scrambled up onto one knee when Essenden's rush bowled him over again; and once more they were entangled in a mad battle.
If the Saint had ever fought with the frenzy of despair, this was that time. It was his second chance. One chance he had been given, and he had lost out on it. Now he was given the second chance which he had no right to ask; and if he threw that away, he could not expect another. This time he had to win.
And he heard Jill Trelawney speak.
"Oh, Simon! Good man!"
He could not spare the breath to answer. The bunch of keys was in his pocket now; and with Essenden out of the way, he could release the girl in a moment. But to dispose of Essenden.
The man had the strength of ten, while the Saint's strength had already been cut down by half by the various punishings he had received. The strongest part of the Saint was his fingers, and with these he strove to take up again his first grip. He reached up for Essenden's throat, found it, circled the windpipe, tightened his hold crushingly. Essenden's face went red. His eyes dilated enormously, and the air wheezed painfully into his starved lungs; but he fought on like an animal at bay.
Simon dropped his chin on his chest and tried with his arms to ward off or at least break the force of the blows that Essenden rained upon him. But when he was guarding his face, Essenden drove his fist into his stomach. In the ordinary way, he would have made nothing of the blow, but at that moment he was weakened and unprepared for it. He gasped and rolled over, fighting down a flood of nausea that threatened to choke him, keeping his stranglehold grimly.
It so happened that the stone floor jutted up immediately under his arm.
It caught him in the elbow, in such a way that a twinge of numbing agony shot up his arm like an electric shock. The fingers of his right hand relaxed, and with a snarl of exultation, Essenden tore both his hands away and breathed again.