“I took a step back into the room, fully expecting an onslaught from the infuriated Henshaw.  ‘You cowardly brute!’ I exclaimed in the heat of my anger and excitement.  But no reply came, and to my wonder he lay still on the floor where he had fallen.”

CHAPTER XXII

HOW GIFFORD ESCAPED

“I waited for some time in silence, expecting him every moment to rise and retaliate.  He was a big, muscular man, but it never occurred to me to be in any fear of him physically.  For one thing my indignation was too hot to admit fear; I happen to be quite good enough at boxing to be able to take care of myself, and I was sure—­all the more from his continuing to lie there—­that such a despicable bully must be a coward.

“‘You had better get up and clear out of this house,’ I said wrathfully, ‘before you get the thrashing you so richly deserve.’

“No answer came.  As I waited for one there was, save for my own breathing, dead silence in the room.  Before speaking I had heard something like a long drawn sigh come from the man on the floor, but now, listening intently, I could hear nothing.  Two explanations suggested themselves to account for his still lying there.  One, shame at his vile conduct having been witnessed by a third person, the other that he had struck his head against the wall in falling and was stunned.

“Naturally I was not greatly concerned at the fellow’s condition, whichever it was; still it would, I concluded, be well to settle the matter, and if he was merely skulking see that he cleared out of the house.  I shut the door, and then crossing to where the man lay, struck a match and held it out to get a view of him.

“He lay on his face with his arms bent under him.  I prodded him with my foot, but he did not stir; he lay absolutely, rather uncannily still.  The match burned out; I struck another and leaned over to get a sight of his face.  To my horror there met my eyes a dark wet patch on the floor which I instinctively felt must be blood.  You may imagine the terrible thrill the conviction gave me.  Yet I could not believe even then that anything really serious had happened.

“I struck a fresh match and holding it up with one hand, with the other took the man’s shoulder and turned him over on his back.  Then I knew that I was there with a dead man.  The hue of the face was unmistakably that of death.  And the cause of it was plainly to be seen.  There was a wound in the man’s neck from which blood came freely.

“How had the wound—­clearly a fatal one—­been caused?  I searched for an explanation.  That which forced itself upon me was that the girl had in her desperation stabbed her persecutor with some weapon she had found there or brought with her.  It was a horrible idea to entertain, although the act would have been almost justified.  I wondered if by chance the weapon was still there.  Striking a match I looked round.  Yes; there on the floor near the spot where Henshaw had first fallen, lay a narrow blood-stained chisel.