THAT MOMENT of terror when Sybil stared up into the round face of Cawler, the chauffeur, remained with her all her life. Behind she heard the grunts and thuds of the beast-man who was trying to open the door. Above her, behind the bars and the glass, another possible enemy. The face disappeared for a moment, and then she heard the sound of hideous squeaking and the grating was turned back on its rusty hinge. A few seconds and the frame of the skylight was lifted, and a hand reached down to her. Without a moment’s hesitation she sprang on to the chair, gripped the hand, and found herself being pulled upward.
“Hold on to the edge for a minute—I’m puffed!” gasped Cawler, and she obeyed.
Over her shoulder she saw the door bulging, and then there came a crash as a huge body was thrown against
