And then the movements grew spasmodic, and then they grew weaker. Still the hands pressed upon the gigantic throat, and Arthur forgot everything. He was mad with rage and fury and hate and sorrow. He thought of Margaret’s anguish and of her fiendish torture, and he wished the man had ten lives so that he might take them one by one. And at last all was still, and that vast mass of flesh was motionless, and he knew that his enemy was dead. He loosened his grasp and slipped one hand over the heart. It would never beat again. The man was stone dead. Arthur got up and straightened himself. The darkness was intense still, and he could see nothing. Susie heard him, and at length she was able to speak. “Arthur, what have you done?” “I’ve killed him,” he said hoarsely. “O God, what shall we do?” Arthur began to laugh aloud, hysterically, and in the darkness his hilarity was terrifying. “For God’s sake let us have some light.” “I’ve found the matches,” said Dr Porhoët. He seemed to awake suddenly from his long stupor. He struck one, and it would not light. He struck another, and Susie took off the globe and the chimney as he kindled the wick. Then he held up the lamp, and they saw Arthur looking at them. His face was ghastly. The sweat ran off his forehead in great beads, and his eyes were bloodshot. He trembled in every limb. Then Dr Porhoët advanced with the lamp and held it forward. They looked down on the floor for the man who lay there dead. Susie gave a sudden cry of horror. There was no one there. Arthur stepped back in terrified surprise. There was no one in the room, living or dead, but the three friends. The ground sank under Susie’s feet, she felt horribly ill, and she fainted. When she awoke, seeming difficultly to emerge from an eternal night, Arthur was holding down her head. “Bend down,” he said. “Bend down.” All that had happened came back to her, and she burst into tears. Her self-control deserted her, and, clinging to him for protection, she sobbed as though her heart would break. She was shaking from head to foot. The strangeness of this last horror had overcome her, and she could have shrieked with fright. “It’s all right,” he said. “You need not be afraid.” “Oh, what does it mean?” “You must pluck up courage. We’re going now to Skene.” She sprang to her feet, as though to get away from him; her heart beat wildly. “No, I can’t; I’m frightened.” “We must see what it means. We have no time to lose, or the morning will be upon us before we get back.” Then she sought to prevent him. “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t go, Arthur. Something awful may await you there. Don’t risk your life.” “There is no danger. I tell you the man is dead.” “If anything happened to you …” She stopped, trying to restrain her sobs; she dared not go on. But he seemed to know what was in her mind. “I will take no risks, because of you. I know that whether I live or die is not a—matter of indifference to you.”