CHAPTER XVIII
It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Grace Duvall when, after having traced the mysterious woman who had attacked Ruth Morton, to the flat at Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, she had foolishly entered the place, and allowed herself to be attacked.
The woman's onslaught had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Grace was entirely unable to offer any defense.
Her cries for help had been smothered at once and with the woman's thin but muscular fingers clutching at her throat, she found herself forced violently back upon a low couch that stood immediately behind her.
For a few moments she struggled violently, striving with both her hands to break her assailant's hold upon her, but her efforts were in vain. Slowly she realized that she was being choked into unconsciousness. The objects in the room, the woman's set face, whirled dimly before her eyes, and then everything became blank.
When she once more recovered consciousness, she found herself still lying upon the couch. Her throat ached fearfully, and there was a dull roaring in her head.
She opened her eyes and looked about. The room was quite dark. Only a very faint glow came through the windows at its further end—the dim reflection of the lights in the street. So far as she could determine, she was alone.
She tried to move her arms, her feet, but found them bound fast. A moment later she realized that a piece of cloth of some sort, tightly rolled, had been forced into her mouth. She could not utter a sound.
There was no one in the room, but from the one which adjoined it in the rear came the murmur of voices.
By twisting her head about she was able to learn that the door connecting the two was ajar, and through the narrow opening came a thin ribbon of light.