With all his strength he strove to rend asunder the heavy steel chain,
but it resisted his every effort.
"God in heaven! am I to die here like a rat in a trap?" he groaned, the
veins standing out like knotted whipcord on his forehead, the
perspiration pouring down his face like rain.
For some moments there was a strange, unaccountable silence in the outer
room.
Lester paused in his efforts to wrench the iron bands asunder which
bound his wrists, wondering what that ominous silence meant.
The suspense was terrible, yet each moment meant that much of a respite
from the horrible fate which awaited him.
What could Halloran be doing? Surely he had not abandoned his intentions
to set fire to the cabin?
It was almost too good to be true. And yet that awful uncertainty was
almost unbearable.
In the outer room Halloran sat quietly thinking over his plans, match in
hand, telling himself that he had better perfect them then than wait
until he was journeying toward the railway station.
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