For as if Stratton’s touch had discharged all power from the man he had seized, the fierce look faded from his face, which grew heavy, vacuous, and dull; his legs trembled beneath him, and he lurched forward, and was only saved from falling by a rapid movement on Stratton’s part as he swung him into an easy-chair, where his enemy sank back with his head lying over on one shoulder, and his leaden eyes staring heavily at the floor.
The strength which had animated him with the flush of memory which had come back, had passed away, and he was once more the feeble imbecile, slowly raising his hand to his neck, where his fingers wandered about the scar of his wound; while at that moment there was faintly heard on the staircase the cheery humming-over of a scrap from an opera, followed by voices and steps on the stone landing, which halted at the door.
Then came a long, rolling knock, followed by a merry laugh, and Stratton, with a quick movement, raised his hand and whispered:
“Hush!”
Chapter Forty Eight.
To save her.
The knock was repeated as Brettison and Stratton stood gazing at each other, and then at the miserable imbecile before them in the chair.
At that moment a familiar voice, muffled by the doors, but still silvery and clear, said: