Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/296

 up anything but Lambert for a glass of ice-water. And he crouched still closer over his captive.

"You're mine," he repeated. The thumb of his left hand, which had been bitten deep by the other's teeth, throbbed and smarted with pain. His lip was torn. His breath was still coming in gasps. The ache of utter weariness was in all his limbs. But the ordeal was over, and he sat there dully and foolishly happy.

Then he tightened his hold on Lambert and lifted him to a sitting posture. He was able to stagger to his feet with that inert enemy, always making sure of his hold. That enemy's arm, as Kestner swayed with him there for a moment or two, was swung back and twisted oddly behind the other's waist. Small-bodied policemen may occasionally be observed leading huge drunkards stationward by much the same method.

Kestner knew the need for caution, for making assurance doubly sure. He half-led and half-dragged his captive along the dark length of the wharf, feeling his way as he went. When he came to the little iron-clad storage-room, he opened the door and thrust Lambert inside.

"And that's the end," he murmured to himself. He relocked the door with his skeleton-key. This took him some time, for he was a little dizzy and his hands were numb and his fingers shaking. But the triumph faded out of his heart, for his thoughts at that inapposite moment went back to Maura Lambert.

He remembered that he was very thirsty. Then he felt through his pockets for a cigar. He found