adman's death, will not even be useful to science."

"Go on, most generous of men, for you prophesy in the most agreeable
manner."

"Ah, it is too much!" exclaimed Michel Ardan's adversary, "and I do not
know why I go on with so childish a discussion. Go on with your mad
enterprise as you like. It is not your fault."

"Fire away."

"No, another must bear the responsibility of your acts."

"Who is that, pray?" asked Michel Ardan in an imperious voice.

"The fool who has organised this attempt, as impossible as it is
ridiculous."

The attack was direct. Barbicane since the intervention of the unknown
had made violent efforts to contain himself and "consume his own smoke,"
but upon seeing himself so outrageously designated he rose directly and
was going to walk towards his adversary, who dared him to his face, when
he felt himself suddenly separated from him.

The platform was lifted up all at once by a hundred vigorous arms, and
the president of the Gun Club was forced to share the honours of triumph
with Michel Ardan. The platform was heavy, but the bearers came in
continuous relays, disputing, struggling, even fighting for the
privilege of lending the support of their shoulders to this
manifestation.

However, the unknown did not take advantage of the tumult to leave the
place. He kept in the front row, his arms folded, still staring at
President Barbicane.

The president did not lose sight of him either, and the eyes of these
two men met like flaming swords.

The cries of the immense crowds kept at their maximum of intensity
during this triumphant march. Michel Ardan allowed himself to be carried
with evident pleasure.

Sometimes the platform pitched and tossed like a ship beaten by the
waves. But the two heroes of the meeting were good sailors, and their
vessel safely arrived in the port of Tampa Town.

Michel Ardan happily succeeded in escaping from his vigorous admirers.
He fled to the Franklin Hotel, quickly reached his room, and glided
rapidly into bed whilst an army of 100,000 men watched under his
windows.

In the meanwhile a short, grave, and decisive scene had taken place
between the mysterious personage and the president of the Gun Club.

Barbicane, liberated at last, went straight to his adversary.

"Come!" said he in a curt voice.

The stranger followed him on to the quay, and they were soon both alone
at the entrance to a wharf opening on to Jones' Fall.

There these enemies, still