He set his teeth and felt the veins on his forehead swell with the effort he made. He was in horrible danger and must fight for his life. Walters was trying to pull his hand off the bar, but he resolved that if the fellow succeeded, he should go down the shaft with him. But although his situation was desperate, he did not mean to fall.
Then Walters' fingers slipped away, and something jarred Lawrence's knuckles as he got a firmer hold. The brute had struck him with a pistol butt and the pain was sharp, but he did not let go. Though his muscles were badly strained and his brain struggled with numbing horror, he could think. Walters could have made him loose his grasp had he used his knife, but the thing must look like an accident and there must be no cut to show. The fellow had set a cunning trap for him, but he might escape yet.
Then he thought he heard steps, but his hearing was dull, for there was a sound like bells in his ears and the hand fastened on his wrist again. He arched his back to ease the strain on his arm and wondered vaguely how long he could hold on. Afterwards, he calculated that he had hung over the shaft for about a minute.
Suddenly his antagonist's grasp slackened and his hand was loose. There were running steps; somebody seized his arm and pulled him strongly back. As he staggered across the passage he heard a heavy blow. Walters, reeling past, struck the wall and leaned against it with blood on his white face. He put his hand into his pocket, but a man sprang forward and grappled with him.
They lurched away from the wall and fell down the stairs. Another man ran down after them, and Lawrence, who felt very limp, followed awkwardly. There were lights on the next landing and he saw the struggling men strike the banisters and stop. One had his hand loose and held a pistol; his tense, savage face was uppermost. The man who had gone down after them stooped and struck him with his fist. The struggle stopped, and Lawrence sat down on the steps and tried to pull himself together. He knew now how his illness had weakened him.
Then Foster came up the stairs, very hot and breathless, with his jacket torn, and stopping beside Lawrence, forced a smile.
"It's lucky I got here when I did," he said. "The brute yonder stopped me coming yesterday."
Foster did not remember his reply, but he got up and went down to where Walters lay unconscious. As he reached the spot the hotel manager and a waiter arrived.
"What's the matter? Is he dead?" the manager asked.
"I don't know," said Foster coolly. "It will save the police some trouble if he is."