The One Woman Part 49

With catlike tread they began to move around the room on the velvet carpet. They made the circuit twice, and found they were following each other. They both stopped, apparently at the same moment, wheeled, and again made the round in a circle without meeting, now and then stumbling against a piece of furniture.

Gordon suddenly stopped, held his breath, and waited for his enemy to overtake him. He could hear Overman's heavy breathing at each m.u.f.fled step. When he approached so close he could feel the movement of his body in the air, he suddenly sprang on him, plunging the dagger in his body, and bore him to the floor, knocking the blower from the grate in the struggle.

Over and over on the velvet carpet, dimly lighted now from the glowing coals, they rolled, growling, snarling, cursing in low, half-articulate gasps, thrusting the steel into flesh and bone, nerve and vein and artery.

Gordon suddenly plunged his dagger with a crash in Overman's shoulder, s.n.a.t.c.hed at it, and broke it smooth at the hilt.

Throwing his opponent to one side by a quick movement, he sprang to his feet, and as Overman rose, fastened his enormous hairy left hand on his throat and closed it with the clutch of a bear. His enemy writhed and plunged the steel twice to the hilt in Gordon's breast before his big right hand found the knife and wrenched it from his grasp.

Then slowly, silently, inch by inch, he bent the banker's body over his knee, driving his great fingers into his throat, until the spinal column snapped with a dull crack.

The limp form sank to the floor, and the two big hands clutched the throat until every finger left its black print as if branded red hot into the ma.s.sive neck.

A quick knock, and Kate's excited voice called:

"Open this door!"

Throwing the body behind the desk in the centre of the room, he felt for the switch, turned on the light, unlocked the door, stepped back and said:

"Come in."

Kate quickly opened the door and rushed into the room. He locked it and put the key in his pocket without a word.

She turned on him a face blanched with speechless horror as he slowly advanced on her in silence, his eyes wide open, cold and set.

The blood was running down across his cheek in a stream from a wound in the upper edge of his high forehead.

She stood dumb with physical fear.

He came close, in laboured breath, his face still sick and white with the desire to kill.

The voice was hard and metallic with the vibrant ring of steel.

"Say your prayers, young woman," he said, slowly. "You are going on a long journey from whence no traveler has yet returned."

She staggered and caught a chair, trembling and s.h.i.+vering.

"Frank, dear, have you gone mad?" she gasped.

"Yes, I went mad in this house one day at the sight of your devil's beauty, and I have been mad from that hour. Now we have come to the end."

"You will not kill me?" she begged, in piteous fear. "I cannot die; I am afraid. Surely you love me; you cannot--"

He seized her wrists and she cowered with a scream. He held them in one hand and with the other swept her magnificent hair around her throat, grasped it in his iron fist, and thus choking her, thrust the s.h.i.+vering figure backward into the chair.

She managed to free her hands, threw her arms around his neck, and tried to smother him with kisses.

"Frank, dear, I'll love you. Surely you will not kill me. Have pity for all that I have been to you in the past--"

"Hush," he said softly, putting his big hand over her full lips.

"Why such childish terror? Love has its moments of sublime cruelty.

This impulse to kill is only the awful desire for utter possession, the climax of love. I'll go with you. Neither life nor death shall take you from me."

With a tremulous moan, she sank into a swoon in his arms.

He loosed the hair from her throat, paused, and looked tenderly at the still white face.

Then he sighed, groaned and kissed her.

"No, no, no, no; not that!" he cried, beneath his breath. "How beautiful she is! I brought her to this. Yes, I was the master of her heart and life. I could have made her anything, angel or devil.

I have made her what she is--One last kiss"--he bent and gently touched her lips--"and this the end."

With tenderness he laid her on the lounge, loosed her corsage, smoothed gently the tangled hair from her white face, closed the door, and went to his room.

He bathed the blood from his forehead and bound it with a piece of plaster. His head began to swim. A sharp pang shot through his breast, and he felt he was suffocating.

He began to s.h.i.+ver with the instinctive desire to escape, threw some things into a bag he usually carried, stopped and scowled with uncertainty.

"What's the use? What is there to live for?"

Yet the big muscular hands kept on at their task.

An hour later he struggled and staggered up the hill through the black, roaring storm and rang Ruth's doorbell.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE CLOUD'S SILVER LINING

Ruth had spent the Sunday in a desperate struggle with the Governor.

Long and tenderly he had pleaded for a pledge that would bind her.

He had been sure of the note of hesitation and uncertainty in her voice when she left Albany on the day of his inauguration.

He finally left her with the firm avowal:

"I am going to win, Ruth. You might as well make up your mind to it."

She smiled and said "Good-night."

When she went upstairs a low sob came from the nursery and she tipped into the room.