With a beating heart, she began to steal to one side, straining her ears.
Suddenly she stood still as death.
Something—someone was almost touching her. She could hear his breathing. She was right under his hand. And she was trapped. Her knee was against a chair, and she could not move. Any second now . . .
The form sheered off. Whose-ever it was, he had missed her by a hair’s breadth.
Trembling all over, Susan began to edge away from the chair. . . .
A piercing scream of agony shattered the silence—the sort of scream which is associated with torture—the scream of a human being under the pain of hell.
Susan’s heart stood still.
The scream slid into a flurry of howled oaths, the nature of which suggested that Labotte was out of action. If he was, there was a doorway clear. . . .
Susan was there in a flash.
She and Kilmuir passed out together.