Page:Arthur Stringer - The Door of Dread.djvu/100

 was foolish to struggle against the pressure of Canby's vise-like arms. Yet she watched for her chance, watched with a wariness born of desperation.

She watched as the hairy hand reached out and wrenched the house-key from her fingers. She saw it flung across the room, and Keudell's sudden movement as he hurriedly slipped from his chair to recover it.

It was, indeed, not until her captor reached out for her revolver that she started to struggle. Into that struggle she put all the vehemence of her outraged innocence, her ill-treated body, her revolt against indignities not to be endured.

But for all her fury she found herself helpless. She was imprisoned by thongs and sinews incomparably stronger than her own. Her right hand was still free and the revolver was still clutched in her fingers. But the hairy hand clenched over her forearm prevented any use of the weapon. The most she could do, during that one-sided struggle, was to keep it out of Canby's grasp. Her enemy realized the necessity of possessing that firearm and seemed determined to have it, at the cost of any effort. He twisted her writhing body cruelly about, so that her back was held close against his own panting body.