With the face of a fiend, Essenden took deliberate aim. And the Saint, flattened against the wall, looked death in the eyes.
The second chance — thrown away.
Of course, he ought to have settled Essenden thoroughly, when he had the advantage, instead of relying on a lasting effect from the lucky blow he had landed on the man's jaw.
The strengthening current an inch above the Saint's knees now, seemed to be trying to pluck his feet from under him and whirl him away. That underground tide must grow in a few more minutes into something with the power and ferocity of a maelstrom. And the Saint would be shot, and the tide would carry him away with it into the unfathomed depths from which it rose. Without a trace… And that would be the end…
With a queer feeling of carelessness, Simon Templar gathered his muscles for the shock of the bullet.
Then he saw Jill Trelawney moving.
She was struggling towards Essenden; and in another step her movement would bring her into the line of fire.
With a cry, the Saint hurled himself forward.
He fell. It was impossible to hurl oneself effectively through that swelling torrent. As he went down, he heard the report of Essenden's shot go booming and reechoing through the cave.
Then his hand closed upon an ankle.