he rolled the unconscious wretch upon his back, then drenched him.
Replacing the pail, he seated himself, lit a cigar, and watched
the return of life into his victim. He made no move, even to drag
him from the pool in which he lay.

Struve groaned and shuddered, twisted to his side, and at last sat
up weakly. In his eyes there was now a great terror, while in
place of his drunkenness was only fear and faintness--abject fear
of the great bulk that sat and smoked and stared at him so
fishily. He felt uncertainly of his throat, and groaned again.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered; but the other made no sign.
He tried to rise, but his knees relaxed; he staggered and fell. At
last he gained his feet and made for the door; then, when his hand
was on the knob, McNamara spoke through his teeth, without
removing his cigar.

"Don't ever talk about her again. She is going to marry me."

When he was alone he looked curiously up at the ceiling over his
head. "The rats are thick in this shack," he mused. "Seems to me I
heard a whole swarm of them."

A few moments later a figure crept through the hole in the roof of
the house next door and thence down into the street. A block ahead
was the slow-moving form of Attorney Struve. Had a stranger met
them both he would not have known which of the two had felt at his
throat the clutch of a strangler, for each was drawn and haggard
and swayed as he went.