IT WAS REDDY WHO AIMED THE BLOW.
"It's Haworth!" they shouted. "Haworth!" And they made a dash at the door in a body, stumbling over one another, striking and cursing, and the scoundrel who first got through and away was counted a lucky man.
Murdoch took a step forward and fell—so close to the model that his helpless hand touched it as it lay.
It was not long before he returned to consciousness. His sudden loss of strength had only been a sort of climax body and mind had reached together. When he opened his eyes again, his first thought was a wonder at himself and a vague effort to comprehend his weakness. He looked up at Haworth, who bent over him.
"Lie still a bit, lad," he heard him say. "Lie and rest thee."
He no sooner heard his voice than he forgot his weak wonder at himself in a stronger wonder at him. He was ashen pale and a tremor shook him as he spoke.
"Lie still and rest thee," he repeated, and he touched his head with an approach to gentleness.
"They thought there was more than me," he said. "And they're not fond of powder and lead. They're better used to knobsticks and vitriol in the dark."