n noticed but for one thing. Acting up to his part in the
ghastly farce which these two ruffians were playing with the wife of one
of them, Constantine turned to bestow kisses on the woman before he
parted from her. Vlacho, in a mockery that was horrible to me who knew
his heart, must needs be facetious. With a laugh he drew back; he drew
back farther still; he was but a couple of feet from the wall of the
house, and that couple of feet I filled.

In a moment, with one step backward, he would be upon me. Perhaps he
would not have made that step; perhaps I should have gone, by grace of
that narrow interval, undetected. But the temptation was too strong for
me. The thought of the thing threatened to make me laugh. I had a
penknife in my pocket; I opened it, and I dug it hard into that portion
of Vlacho's frame which came most conveniently (and prominently) to my
hand. Then, leaving the penknife where it was, I leaped up, gave the
howling ruffian a mighty shove, and with a loud laugh of triumph bolted
for my life down the hill. But when I had gone twenty yards I dropped on
my knees, for bullet after bullet whistled over my head. Constantine,
the outraged Vlacho too, perhaps, carried a revolver. And the barrels
were being emptied after me. I rose and turned one hasty glance behind
me. Yes, I saw their dim shapes like moving trees. I fired once, twice,
thrice, in my turn, and then went crashing and rushing down the path
that I had ascended so cautiously.

I cannoned against the tree trunks; I tripped over trailing branches; I
stumbled over stones. Once I paused and fired the rest of my barrels; a
yell told me I had hit--but Vlacho, alas! not Constantine. At the same
instant my fire was answered, and a bullet went through my hat. I was
defenceless now, save for my heels, and to them I took again with all
speed. But as I crashed along, one, at least, of them came crashing
after me. Yes, it was only one. I had checked Vlacho's career. It was
Constantine alone. I suppose one of your heroes of romance would have
stopped and faced him, for with them it is not etiquette to run away
from one man. Ah, well, I ran away. For all I knew, Constantine might
still have a shot in the locker. I had none. And if Constantine killed
me, he would kill the only man who knew all his secrets. So I ran. And
just as I got within ten yards of the drop into my own territory I heard
a wild cry, "Charlie, Charlie! Where the devil are you, Charlie?"

"W