"Do you mean that you're in love with her?" asked the man at the
window, without shifting his position. It seemed that utter
indifference was in his question, although where the light shone
on his hands, tight-clinched behind his back, they were bloodless.

"Love her? Well--that depends--ha! You know how it is--" he
chuckled, coarsely. His face was gross and bestial. "I've got the
Judge where I want him, and I'll have her--"

His miserable words died with a gurgle, for McNamara had silently
leaped and throttled him where he sat, pinning him to the wall.
Glenister saw the big politician shift his fingers slightly on
Struve's throat and then drop his left hand to his side, holding
his victim writhing and helpless with his right despite the man's
frantic struggles. McNamara's head was thrust forward from his
shoulders, peering into the lawyer's face. Strove tore
ineffectually at the iron arm which was squeezing his life out,
while for endless minutes the other leaned his weight against him,
his idle hand behind his back, his legs braced like stone columns,
as he watched his victim's struggles abate.

Struve fought and wrenched while his breath caught in his throat
with horrid, sickening sounds, but gradually his eyes rolled
farther and farther back till they stared out of his blackened
visage, straight up towards the ceiling, towards the hole through
which Glenister peered. His struggles lessened, his chin sagged,
and his tongue protruded, then he sat loose and still. The
politician flung him out into the room so that he fell limply upon
his face, then stood watching him. Finally, McNamara passed out of
the watcher's vision, returning with a water-bucket. With his foot