“He wants to get down before the motor stops,” the latter said.

Lawrence hurried along the passage, and when he reached the shaft Walters put his hand on the folding ironwork.

“Come along; his light’s out,” he said to Lawrence, and added, as if to somebody in the lift:  “Start her off!  I’ll shut the gate.”

Lawrence stepped forward and then clutched the ironwork as his advanced foot went down into empty space.  Instead of the floor of the lift, there was a dark gap beneath him, and he knew he had come very near to plunging down the shaft.  He hung over it, with one foot on the edge and his hand on an iron bar, and looked at the black hole with horror as he braced himself for the effort to swing his body back.  There was some strain upon his right arm, because his right knee was bent and his other leg dangled over the shaft.  His hold on the ironwork had saved him and he must use it to regain the passage.

Next moment a hand fastened on his wrist and he thought Walters had come to his help.  But the fellow was stupid; he ought to have seized his shoulder.  Then the sweat ran down his face as he guessed the truth.  Walters had not come to help; he meant to throw him down the shaft.

He set his teeth and felt the veins on his forehead swell with the effort he made.  He was in horrible danger and must fight for his life.  Walters was trying to pull his hand off the bar, but he resolved that if the fellow succeeded, he should go down the shaft with him.  But although his situation was desperate, he did not mean to fall.

Then Walters’ fingers slipped away, and something jarred Lawrence’s knuckles as he got a firmer hold.  The brute had struck him with a pistol butt and the pain was sharp, but he did not let go.  Though his muscles were badly strained and his brain struggled with numbing horror, he could think.  Walters could have made him loose his grasp had he used his knife, but the thing must look like an accident and there must be no cut to show.  The fellow had set a cunning trap for him, but he might escape yet.

Then he thought he heard steps, but his hearing was dull, for there was a sound like bells in his ears and the hand fastened on his wrist again.  He arched his back to ease the strain on his arm and wondered vaguely how long he could hold on.  Afterwards, he calculated that he had hung over the shaft for about a minute.

Suddenly his antagonist’s grasp slackened and his hand was loose.  There were running steps; somebody seized his arm and pulled him strongly back.  As he staggered across the passage he heard a heavy blow.  Walters, reeling past, struck the wall and leaned against it with blood on his white face.  He put his hand into his pocket, but a man sprang forward and grappled with him.

They lurched away from the wall and fell down the stairs.  Another man ran down after them, and Lawrence, who felt very limp, followed awkwardly.  There were lights on the next landing and he saw the struggling men strike the banisters and stop.  One had his hand loose and held a pistol; his tense, savage face was uppermost.  The man who had gone down after them stooped and struck him with his fist.  The struggle stopped, and Lawrence sat down on the steps and tried to pull himself together.  He knew now how his illness had weakened him.