"I can't be thankful enough," she told him warmly, "that you did interfere. You have indeed saved me from ..."
"Yes?"
"I don't know what. If I knew the man—"
"You don't know him?"
"I can't even guess. The light—?"
She paused inquiringly. Kirkwood fumbled with the lamp, but, whether its rude handling had impaired some vital part of the mechanism, or whether the batteries through much use were worn out, he was able to elicit only one feeble glow, which was instantly smothered by the darkness.
"It's no use," he confessed. "The thing's gone wrong."
"Have you a match?"
"I used my last before I got hold of this."
"Oh," she commented, discouraged. "Have you any notion what he looks like?"