Explore "The Mystery of Room 75" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Just for a moment Paul Wendover hesitated and felt half inclined to turn his back on his self-appointed task. He was sick to the very soul of these murderous adventures of his, disappointed and disgusted that he had been powerless to stay the hand of John Garcia. How much longer would they go on, how much longer would it be before he himself was numbered amongst the list of victims? But this was only for a moment, then his hand slipped round to the throat of the man with the orange hair until he was borne gradually backwards and lay on the white and shifting sand with Wendover's knee on his chest. He had put up a big struggle for it, but youth and a magnificent physical training were all on Wendover's side, and, after the first spasmodic effort he had the other entirely at his mercy.
He was afraid of no interruption, either, for the links were deserted now, and down there at the bottom of the crater they were entirely secure from observation.