There remained the chance--the slim chance that only Providence considers. He had prayed for strength and cunning; she had prayed for divine intervention. But, after all, Luck was to be the referee.
He had told her of his plan; she knew the part she was to play. And if all went well--ah, then! He took a strange lesson in the language of Graustark: one sentence, that was all. She had whispered the translation to him and he had grimly repeated it, over and over again. "She has fainted, damn her!" It was to be their "Open Sesame"--if all went well!
Suddenly he started to his feet, his jaws set, his eyes gleaming. The telegraph instrument was clicking in the outer room!
He had wrapped his handkerchief about his big right hand, producing a sort of cushion to deaden the sound of a blow with the fist and to protect his knuckles; for all his strength was to go into that one mighty blow. If both men came into the room, his chance was smaller; but, in either event, the first blow was to be a mighty one.
Taking his position near the girl, who was crouching in real dismay, he leaned against the wall, his hands behind him, every muscle strained and taut.
The door opened and Julius Spantz, bewhiskered and awkward, entered. He wore a raincoat and storm hat, and carried a rope in one of his hands. He stopped just inside the door to survey the picture.
"Time you were asleep," he said stupidly, addressing King.
"I'd put you to sleep, Julius, if Miss Tullis could have managed to untie these infernal bonds," said Truxton, with pleasant daring.
"I don't tie lovers' knots," grinned Julius, pleased with his own wit. "Come, madam, I must ask you to stand up. Will you put your own handkerchief in your mouth, or must I use force--ah, that's good! I'm sorry, but I must wrap this cloth about--"
He did not complete the sentence, for he had come within range. The whole weight of Truxton King's body was behind the terrific blow that landed on the man's jaw. Loraine suppressed the scream that rose to her white lips. Julius Spantz's knees crumpled; he lunged against the wall and was sliding down when King caught him in his arms. The man was stunned beyond all power of immediate action. It was the work of an instant to snatch the revolver from his coat pocket.
"Guard the door!" whispered King to the girl, pressing the revolver into her hand. "And shoot if you have to!"
A handkerchief was stuffed into the unconscious man's mouth; the long coat and boots were jerked from his limp body before his hands and feet were bound with the rope he carried; the bushy whiskers and wig were removed from his head and transferred in a flash to that of the American. Then the boots, coat and hat found a new wearer.