I tried the door; it yielded, and we stepped
into the hall. The voice came from the room at the right. It was no
time for hesitation--we sprang to the door and entered.
Martigny was standing in the middle of the floor, fairly foaming at
the mouth, shrieking out commands and imprecations at two women who
cowered in the farther corner. The elder one I knew at a glance--the
younger--my heart leaped as I looked at her--was it Miss Holladay? No,
yet strangely like.
He saw their startled eyes turn past him to us, and swung sharply
round. For an instant he stood poised like a serpent about to strike,
then I saw his eyes fix in a frightful stare, his face turned livid,
and with a strangled cry, he fell back and down. Together we lifted
him to the low window-seat, pursuers and pursued alike, loosened his
collar, chafed his hands, bathed his temples, did everything we could
think of doing; but he lay there staring at the ceiling with clenched
teeth. At last Royce bent and laid his ear against his breast. Then he
arose and turned gently to the women.
"It is no use," he said. "He is dead."
I looked to see them wince under the blow; but they did not. The
younger woman went slowly to the window and stood there sobbing
quietly; the other's face lit up with a positive blaze of joy.
"So," she exclaimed, in that low, vibrant voice I so well remembered,
"so he is dead! That treacherous, cruel heart has burst at last!"
Royce gazed at her a moment in astonishment.
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