The hand holding the pistol became rigid as a rock.
“—I want the reason why—in a holy minute, Mister Hamilton Rook—or else—”
For a heart-beat the face of the lawyer seemed swollen to a poisonous whiteness; the veins in his neck and temples stood out in ridges. Then—the long, spatulate fingers spread wide with a curious, flicking motion, thumbs downward; the curtain bellied outward suddenly as if in answer.
Abruptly Annister felt for a heart-beat a something that was like a cold wind blowing upon the back of his neck, and it was a wind of death. Something slid past his shoulder with the speed of light; talons of steel, thumbs downward, pressing at the base of his brain. He heard a hoarse, whistling croak—a sound that was nothing human. Then—
There is but one answer to that strangler’s grip, and it is a secret known only to a few. Annister had learned it, no matter where, and in the learning he had paid....
Now, an infinitesimal split second before the beast paws had encircled his throat, his forefinger and thumb had flashed upward, hooked, as steel gaff is hooked, between those fingers and his throat.
There followed a straining heave; a cry, inhuman, beastlike, like the mewing of a cat. Annister, rising to his feet, leaned abruptly to the left—straightened, with one quick, explosive heave of his powerful shoulder-muscles—and the body of his antagonist catapulted over his head.
Flung clear of the desk, he landed, heavily, on one shoulder-point, twitched a moment, lay still. It was the “flying-mare,” and none but a master could have summoned it.
Annister turned the unconscious man over with his foot.
“Jivero!” he muttered, between set teeth.