manual on the unfortunate
man, which was the swift downward stroke of a long, narrow, sharp
poniard, entering the body below the shoulders, and piercing the
heart. The advantage presented by this terrible blow is that the
victim sinks instantly in a heap at the feet of his slayer, without
uttering a moan. The wound left is a scarcely perceptible blue mark
which rarely even bleeds. It was this mark I saw on the body of the
Maire of Marseilles, and afterwards on one other in Paris besides poor
Brisson. It was the mark found on the man in Greenwich Park; always
just below the left shoulder-blade, struck from behind. Felini's
comrades claim that there was this nobility in his action, namely, he
allowed the traitor to prove himself before he struck the blow. I
should be sorry to take away this poor shred of credit from Felini's
character, but the reason he followed Brisson into the courtyard was
to give himself time to escape. He knew perfectly the ways of the
concierge. He knew that the body would lie there until the morning, as
it actually did, and that this would give him hours in which to effect
his retreat. And this was the man whom British law warned not to
incriminate himself! What a people! What a people!

After Brisson's tragic death, I resolved to set no more valuable men
on the track of the anarchists, but to place upon myself the task in
my moments of relaxation. I became very much interested in the
underground workings of the International. I joined the organisation
under the name of Paul Ducharme, a professor of advanced opinions, who
because of them had been dismissed his situation in Nantes. As a
matter of fact there had been such a Paul Ducharme, who had been so
dismissed, but he had drowned himself in the Loire, at Orleans, as the
records show. I adopted the precaution of getting a photograph of this
foolish old man from the police at Nantes, and made myself up to
resemble him. It says much for my disguise that I was recognised as
the professor by a delegate from Nantes, at the annual Convention held
in Paris, which I attended, and although we conversed for some time
together he never suspected that I was not the professor, whose fate
was known to no one but the police of Orleans. I gained much credit
among my comrades because of this encounter, which, during its first
few moments, filled me with dismay, for the delegate from Nantes held
me up as an example of a man well off, who had deliberately sacrifice