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THE HAND OF HORROR
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past four it would be out of reach of the door; at quarter of five, if he could hold on so long, he must inevitably fall. He had never before tried to picture what it would be to fall. Shutting his eyes, he could imagine it: the sliding; the clammy fingers, numb from the strain of holding ; the last touch of the steel as the fall began — down! past the windows where, perhaps, horrified faces would be staring: — down! nearer and nearer,
not die until he must. He stared into the round, glazed, white clock-face, trying to focus his attention. Presently he found himself counting with feverish haste, and laughed grimly. Ten moments of life gone already! What ought he to do? Perhaps he should pray. But the words would not come ; only one word — Margaret ! In a flash he was himself again. He clung to the thought of her, sanely, quietly. She had been right. No
WITH ONE SUPREME EFFORT, MARGARET RESCUES PRANK PROM HIS PERILOUS POSITION'
watching the stones of the street rise up.
He wondered whether he should be able to think as he fell. Would it hurt when he struck, or would sense be snuffed out, as a candle-flame?
In a frenzy of revolt and insane, physical shuddering, he hurled himself against the unyielding wood. The movement, with the added slant of his seat, nearly dislodged him. He clung, sick with his escape, to the steel before him with hands slippery with sweat. He would be cool. At least, he would
man in bis perilous profession should impose upon a woman the agony of a life of strained listening, tense waiting.
' ' Sweetheart,' ' lie said aloud — "Margaret — you'll never know how 1 thought of you these last few. precious moments. You wont understand that you helped me die like a man "
His seat was sliding very rapidly downward now. Above his head poised the minute-hand. The quick transfer broughl a short respite; then. faster than before, he felt himself