Walter Crease went over like a log before his fist; Major Post felt the revolver at which he had snatched struck from his hand, and he himself remembered nothing more till he came to his senses some time afterwards.

A slash and a cut and Pritchard was free.
The professor stood wringing his hands.

Elizabeth had risen to her feet.
She was pale, but she was still more nearly composed than any other person in the room.

Tavernake and Pritchard were masters of the situation.

Pritchard leaned toward the mirror and straightened his tie.
"I am afraid," he said looking down at Walter Crease's groaning figure, "that our hosts are scarcely in fit condition to take leave of us.