The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

He stared at them like a man in a trance. And then, like a man in a trance, he gathered them into his hand and felt them, felt the smooth hard cold contact of them, wondering if that ghastly adventure had unhinged his brain.

But the keys might have fallen out of Essenden's pocket in the fight.

He shot a sidelong glance at Essenden; but for the mo­ment Essenden had forgotten his existence.

Even so, he could not take a chance.

He rolled away, still seeming to wrestle with his chain, and splashed into the little stream.

Under cover of the water, he could try every key on the bunch without being observed.

"Hold on, Jill!"

His voice rang in the cave with the old unconquer­able Saintly lilt as clear in it as sunlight, and Essenden turned to bare his teeth again and laugh.

"You'll never get away, Templar! I made sure of that when I anchored the trap. But you can try. . . ."

His hands pawed again at the girl's dress.

"But you, Jill," he crooned—"Jill! Such a pretty name, Jill! Pretty Jill—do you still hate me? You shouldn't hate me. . . ."

The Saint worked frantically.

The icy water in which he was half immersed did more than cover his movements. The chill of it stung his aching wearied body into new life.

He found a key that fitted, and felt a fresh surge of hope.

Jill Trelawney had not once cried out. She had not spoken. She had not even answered his encouragement. But as the key he tried turned in the lock, and the steel jaws snapped away from his ankle, he heard her choke back a little moan.

The sound made him forget that for half an hour his left ankle had been locked in the crushing grip of Essenden's man trap. He tried to leap at Essenden, and felt stupidly surprised when his leg gave under him and sent him sprawling.

Essenden whipped round in a flash.

"So you've got loose!"

"I have so," said the Saint.

He had scrambled up onto one knee when Essenden's rush bowled him over again; and once more they were entangled in a mad battle.

If the Saint had ever fought with the frenzy of despair, this was that time. It was his second chance. One chance he had been given, and he had lost out on it. Now he was given the second chance which he had no right to ask; and if he threw that away, he could not expect an­other. This time he had to win.

And he heard Jill Trelawney speak.

"Oh, Simon! Good man!"

He could not spare the breath to answer. The bunch of keys was in his pocket now; and with Essenden out of the way, he could release the girl in a moment. But to dispose of Essenden . . .