He flung another man flat against
the temple wall, so that he slid to the ground; but a third and
fourth carried Fisher off his feet and began to bear him,
struggling, toward the doorway. Even in the bewilderment of the
battle he was conscious that the door was standing open. Somebody
was summoning the roughs from inside.
The moment they were within they hurled him upon a sort of bench or
bed with violence, but no damage; for the settee, or whatever it
was, seemed to be comfortably cushioned for his reception. Their
violence had in it a great element of haste, and before he could
rise they had all rushed for the door to escape. Whatever bandits
they were that infested this desert island, they were obviously
uneasy about their job and very anxious to be quit of it. He had the
flying fancy that regular criminals would hardly be in such a panic.
The next moment the great door crashed to and he could hear the
bolts shriek as they shot into their place, and the feet of the
retreating men scampering and stumbling along the causeway. But
rapidly as it happened, it did not happen before Fisher had done
something that he wanted to do. Unable to rise from his sprawling
attitude in that flash of time, he had shot out one of his long legs
and hooked it round the ankle of the last man disappearing through
the door.
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