But Heywood drew a free breath: those eyes had been staring into vacancy.
"Now, then," he thought, and sat up to the cranny; for the rattle of the abacus had stopped.
"The counting is complete," announced the Red Wand slowly, "the hours are numbered.

The day--" Movement, shadow, or nameless instinct, made the listener glance upward swiftly.

He caught the gleam of yellow silk, the poise and downward jab, and with a great heave of muscles went shooting down the slippery channel of the cock's blood.

A spearhead grazed his scalp, and smashed a tile behind him.

As he rolled over the edge, the spear itself whizzed by him into the dark.
"The chap saw," he thought, in mid-air; "beastly clever--all the time--" He landed on the spear-shaft, in a pile of dry rubbish, snatched up the weapon, and ran, dimly conscious of a quiet scurrying behind and above him, of silent men tumbling after, and doors flung violently open.
He raced blindly, but whipped about the next corner, leaving the moon at his back.