"Lucky it didn't go off," said Ravenslee, smiling grimly at the revolver he held, "others might have heard, and, Mr. Flowers, I want to be alone with you just a little longer. Of course, I might shoot you for the murderous beast you are, or I might walk you over to the nearest police depot for the crook I think you are--but--oh, well, of late I've been yearning to get my hands on you and so"--Ravenslee turned and pitched the revolver through the broken window. But, almost as the weapon left his hand, M'Ginnis was upon him, and, reeling from the blow, Ravenslee staggered blindly across the room, till stayed by the wall, and sank there, crouched and groaning, his face hidden in his hands. With a cry hoarse and fierce, M'Ginnis followed and stooped, eager to make an end--stooped to be met by two fierce hands, sure hands and strong, that grasped his silken neckerchief as this crouching figure rose suddenly erect. So for a wild, panting moment they grappled, swaying grimly to and fro, while ever the silken neckerchief was twisted tight and tighter. Choking now, M'Ginnis felt fingers on his naked throat, iron fingers that clutched cruelly, and in this painful grip was whirled, choking, against the wall and thence borne down and down. And now M'Ginnis, lying helpless across his opponent's knee, stared up into a face pale but grimly joyous, lips that curled back from gnashing white teeth--eyes that glared merciless. So Ravenslee bent M'Ginnis back across his knee and choked him there awhile, then suddenly relaxed his hold and let M'Ginnis sink, gasping, to the floor. "A little--rough, Mr. Flowers," he panted, "a trifle--rough with you--I fear--but I want you--to know that you--shall not utter--her name--in my presence. Now the key--I prefer door to window--the key, Mr. Flowers--ah, here it is!" So saying, Ravenslee stood upright, and wiping blood and sweat from him with his sleeve, turned to the door. "One other thing, Mr. Flowers; have the goodness to take off your neckerchief next time, or I--may strangle you outright." Halfway down the passage Ravenslee turned to see Murder close on his heels. Once he smote and twice, but nothing might stay that bull-like rush and, locked in a desperate clinch, he was borne back and back, their trampling lost in the universal din about them, as reeling, staggering, they crashed out through wrecked and splintered door and, still locked together, were swallowed in the night beyond. Thus the Spider, crouching in the dark beneath the broken window with Spike beside him, was presently aware of the sickening sounds of furious struggling close at hand, and of a hoarse, panting voice that cursed in fierce triumph--a voice that ended all at once in a ghastly strangling choke; and recognising this voice, the Spider hunched his great shoulders and bore Spike to a remote spot where stood a solitary lamp-post. Here he waited, calm-eyed and chewing placidly, one arm about the fretful Spike.