'Stop!' cried Marie, furiously. 'You are in league with him. He shall not escape.'
'Do not listen to her. See! I will hold her arms.'
Marie advanced with a loud cry, but Menotah was upon her with all her lithe strength, holding her back, stifling her screams.
'The knife!' cried Lamont, with his usual selfish thought.
She threw it at him, but in the effort Marie cast her aside. Frantically she cried, in a piercing voice which rose above the storm, 'Help! He is escaping. The window!'
A second of silence, then there came deep voices and sounds of hurried footsteps.
'There is death on the point of the knife.' Again she held back the struggling Marie.
Lamont sprang to the window. Freedom was his. Another second—one more step forward, then the darkness would have received him, the night would have covered his flight. But that step was not to be made.
A man rose up suddenly from the gloom, a spare man with thin, nervous face. There could be no passing, no resisting, this new opponent. He had not strength to raise his hand against that figure.
'Sinclair!'