ley swung out with the oak-framed steamer-chair which he had already caught up as a weapon of defence.
He swung it short and quick, with a forward and elliptical motion, as he leaned out toward the dimly discerned shadow. He heard it strike home; he heard the inarticulate little half-groan, half-sigh, as the stunned man crumpled down over the door-sill.
Ganley also heard the woman's cry of terror, but he had other things to think of, other fish to fry. He pawed frenziedly about the cabin wall until he found the switch, and turned on the light. He saw McKinnon still sprawled half over his door-sill; he saw the woman crouched shield-like over his body; he saw the broken steamer-chair lying on the cabin floor. He also saw the heavy iron dumb-bell, covered with rusted canvas, lying at his feet, not six inches from the dynamo base. The terrified woman, waiting for the unknown end, screamed again, and still again, as she saw him stoop and catch it up.
It was not until the great, ape-like arm of the gun-runner brought the dumb-bell crashing down on the operating table that she realised her mistake, that his actual intention flashed through her.
His fury now was not being directed toward
