"I----"
He knew that Betty could not hear, that he could do nothing. Nothing?
As the thought framed he leaped to his feet and in the grip of such a
rage as even he had never known, hurled himself across the few paces
between him and Zoraida.
"You have the way to stop this damned thing!" His hands, like claws,
were thrust before her face. "You will stop it."
Even in his headlong rage there were cool cells in his brain. He saw
the quick significant look Zoraida shot over his shoulder and turned;
there behind him stood one of the squat brutes who did her bidding.
Kendric saw something in the man's hand but did not reck whether it was
gun or knife or club or something else. He whipped about and struck.
As the man staggered under the unexpected blow, Kendric snatched up the
heavy stool on which he had been sitting and struck again, so swift
that the blow landed while the figure was yet staggering backward. The
man fell, stunned, and then, as quick as light, before Zoraida could
lift a hand, Kendric was upon her again.
"Call off your cat!" he shouted at her.
She lifted her head defiantly.
"Never has man dictated to me!" she cried angrily. "Here I dictate.
If you dared put a hand on me----"
He saw her own hand creeping out toward the table. What it sought he
did not know; a hidden bell, perhaps. Or a dagger. He remembered her
swift attack upon Ortega.
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