He thought of Cervera's garments, of the fluffy lace skirts beneath her gown, to which a single flash of fire would instantly prove fatal.
The resort to such means seemed horrible—yet Nick well knew it was the one and only resource left him.
He glanced sharply at Cervera. She was still listening at the door, with her evil face a picture of intense suspense.
With a quick turn of his wrist, Nick succeeded in extracting the box from his pocket. Then he forced it open, and with a move of his hand he scattered its entire contents over the floor around his chair. The tiny matches fell with scarce a sound, and Cervera, ten feet away, failed to hear them.
Then Nick quietly worked his chair back a foot or two, in order to bring some of the fateful things upon the floor directly in front of him.
A moment later Cervera turned from the door.
"Thunder—it was thunder," she muttered, under her breath. "There's a storm outside."
"Somebody coming?" queried Nick, with taunting accents.
He now aimed to provoke her, to force the situation to a climax, lest any mischance should have befallen Chick, or perverted in any way his own designs upon Kilgore and the gang. His taunting remark proved effective, moreover.
With a snarl of rage Cervera darted toward him, with eyes for him alone, never for the floor.