Already his skin had been broken, a few drops of blood were upon the collar of his pyjamas.

The hand which held that deadly, assailing weapon--small, slim, very feminine, curving from somewhere behind the bed curtain--belonged to some unseen person.

He tried to shrink farther back upon the pillow.

The hand followed him, displaying glimpses now of a soft, white-sleeved arm.

He lay quite still, the muscles of his right arm growing tenser as he prepared for a snatch at those cruel fingers.