Hobart had not even cried out; the only audible sounds being the sharp click of the door, and the dull thud of a falling body.
West emptied the man's pockets, slipping two revolvers into his own; then stood for an instant motionless, staring down into the white upturned face.

He had followed the impulse of the moment; had struck savagely; knowing it was his only chance.

Thus far he had done well; but what next?
He was conscious of but one thought, one purpose--to escape from this house, unpledged and still free to act.

Yet how could this be accomplished?
He had no plan, no knowledge even of his surroundings, of what lay beyond the walls of this room.

His eyes swept the bare interior, seeing nothing to inspire hope.