as he looked at the sweet face which was upturned to him. Then his
features set once more into their grim lines of malice.
“My hand is set to the work, woman. It is not for the servant to look
back from his task.”
“But why should this be your task?”
“Because there is a voice within me which tells me so. In the night-time
I have heard it, and in the daytime too, when I have lain out alone upon
the girders and seen the wicked dotting the streets beneath me, each
busy on his own evil intent. ‘John Barnes, John Barnes,’ said the voice.
‘You are here that you may give a sign to a sinful generation--such a
sign as shall show them that the Lord liveth and that there is a
judgment upon sin.’ Who am I that I should disobey the voice of the
Lord?”
“The voice of the devil,” said Stangate. “What is the sin of this lady,
or of these others, that you should seek their lives?”
“You are as the others, neither better nor worse. All day they pass me,
load by load, with foolish cries and empty songs and vain babble of
voices. Their thoughts are set upon the things of the flesh. Too long
have I stood aside and watched and refused to testify. But now the day
of wrath is come and the sacrifice is ready. Think not that a woman’s
tongue can turn me from my task.”
“It is useless!” Mary cried. “Useless! I read death in his eyes.”
Another cord had snapped.
“Repent! Repent!” cried the madman. “One more, and it is over!”
Commander Stangate felt as if it were all some extraordinary dream--some
monstrous nightmare. Could it be possible that he, after all his
escapes of death in warfare, was now, in the heart of peaceful England,
at the mercy of a homicidal lunatic, and that his dear girl, the one
being whom he would shield from the very shadow of danger, was helpless
before this horrible man? All his energy and manhood rose up in him for
one last effort.
“Here, we won’t be killed like sheep in the shambles!” he cried,
throwing himself against the wooden wall of the lift and kicking with
all his force. “Come on, boys! Kick it! Beat it! It’s only
matchboarding, and it is giving. Smash it down! Well done! Once more all
together! There she goes! Now for the side! Out with it! Splendid!”
First the back and then the side of the little compartment had been
knocked out, and the splinters dropped down into the abyss. Barnes
danced upon his girder, his hammer in the air.
“Strive not!” he shrieked. “It avails not. The day is surely come.”
“It’s not two feet from the side girder,” cried the officer. “Get
across! Quick! Quick! All of you. I’ll hold this devil off!” He had
seized a stout stick from the commercial traveller and faced the madman,
daring him to spring across.
“Your turn now, my friend!” he hissed. “Come on, hammer and all! I’m
ready for you.”
Above him he heard another snap, and the frail platform began to rock.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that his companions were all safe
upon the side girder. A strange line of terrified castaways they
appeared as they clung in an ungainly row to the trellis-work of steel.
But their feet were on the iron support. With two quick steps and a
spring he was at their side. At the same instant the murderer, hammer in
hand, jumped the gap. They had one vision of him there--a vision which
will haunt their dreams--the convulsed face, the blazing eyes, the
wind-tossed raven locks. For a moment he balanced himself upon the
swaying platform. The next, with a rending crash, he and it were gone.
There was a long silence and then, far down, the thud and clatter of a
mighty fall.
* * * * *
With white faces, the forlorn group clung to the cold steel bars and
gazed down into the terrible abyss. It was the Commander who broke the
silence.
“They’ll send for us now. It’s all safe,” he cried, wiping his brow.
“But, by Jove, it was a close call!”