Hawley, puzzled by the silence, was listening intently in an endeavor to thus locate the girl through some rustling, some slight motion.

A knife, knocked from the table, perhaps, as she slipped softly past, fell clattering to the floor, and the gambler leaped instantly forward.

Keith's grip closed like iron on his groping arm, while he shot one fist out toward where the man's head should be.

The blow glanced, yet drove the fellow backward, stumbling against the table, and Keith closed in, grappling for the throat.

The other, startled by the unexpected attack, and scarcely realizing even yet the nature of his antagonist, struggled blindly to escape the fingers clawing at him, and flung one hand down to the knife in his belt.