"Close the door!" Vain were the trooper's struggles to free himself from that throttling grip.

Already his efforts grew his face was purple; his veins stood out in ropes upon his brow till they seemed upon the point of bursting; his eyes protruded like a lobster's and there was a horrible grin upon his mouth; still his heels beat the bed, and still he struggled.

With his fingers he plucked madly at the throttling hands on his neck, and tore at them with his nails until the blood streamed from them.

Still Galliard held him firmly, and with a smile--a diabolical smile it seemed to the poor, half-strangled wretch--he gazed upon his choking victim.
"Someone comes!" gasped Kenneth suddenly.

"Someone comes, Sir Crispin!" he repeated, shaking his hands in a frenzy.
Galliard listened.