Then all at once Murdoch's calmness was gone. He shook in their grasp. "For God's sake!" he cried, "don't touch it! Don't do it a harm! It's a mistake. It has nothing to do with your trade. It would be no hurt to you if it were known to the whole world. For God's sake, believe me!" "We've heerd a different mak' o' tale fro' that," said Reddy, laughing. "It's a lie--a lie! Who told it?" "Jem Haworth," he was answered. "Jem Haworth, as it wur made fur." He began to struggle with all his strength. He cried out aloud and sprang up and broke loose and fought with the force of madness. "You shall pay for it," he shrieked, and three to one as they were, he held them for a moment at bay. "Gi' him th' knob-stick!" cried one. "At him wi' it!" It was Reddy who aimed the blow at him,--a blow that would have laid him a dead man among them,--but it never fell, for he sprang forward with a mighty effort and struck the bludgeon upward, and as it fell with a crash at the opposite side of the room, they heard, even above the tumult of their struggle, a rush of heavy feet, a voice every man among them knew, and the sound they most dreaded--the sharp report of a pistol. [Illustration: IT WAS REDDY WHO AIMED THE BLOW.] "It's Haworth!" they shouted. "Haworth!" And they made a dash at the door in a body, stumbling over one another, striking and cursing, and the scoundrel who first got through and away was counted a lucky man. Murdoch took a step forward and fell--so close to the model that his helpless hand touched it as it lay. It was not long before he returned to consciousness. His sudden loss of strength had only been a sort of climax body and mind had reached together. When he opened his eyes again, his first thought was a wonder at himself and a vague effort to comprehend his weakness. He looked up at Haworth, who bent over him. "Lie still a bit, lad," he heard him say. "Lie and rest thee." He no sooner heard his voice than he forgot his weak wonder at himself in a stronger wonder at him. He was ashen pale and a tremor shook him as he spoke. "Lie still and rest thee," he repeated, and he touched his head with an approach to gentleness. "They thought there was more than me," he said. "And they're not fond of powder and lead. They're better used to knobsticks and vitriol in the dark." "They meant to murder me," said Murdoch. "Aye, make sure o' that. They weren't for play. They've had their minds on this for a month or two. If I'd been a minute later----" He did not finish. A queer spasm of the throat stopped him. He rose the next instant and struck a match and turned the gas on to full blaze. "Let's have light," he said. "Theer's a look about th' place I can't stand." His eyes were blood-shot, his face looked gray and deeply lined and his lips were parched. There was a new haggardness upon him and he was conscious of it and tried to bear it down with his old bravado.