knife in his hand, and jabbed him in the arm. For a moment
the big man sat looking at his assailant as if amazed at his
audacity. Then as he saw the blood running down his fingers he went
mad, seized the Polak by the hair, lifted him clear out of his
seat, carrying the plank table with him, and thereupon taking him
by the back of the neck, proceeded to shake him till his teeth
rattled in his head.

At almost the same instant the black-bearded man leaped across the
fallen table like a tiger, at Rosenblatt's throat, and bore him down
to the earthen floor in the dark corner. Sitting astride his chest,
his knees on Rosenblatt's arms, and gripping him by the throat, he
held him voiceless and helpless. Soon his victim lay still, looking
up into his assailant's face in surprise, fear and rage unspeakable.

"Rosenblatt," said the bearded man in a soft voice,
"you know me--me?"

"No," gasped Rosenblatt in terrible fury, "what do you--"

"Look," said the man. With his free hand he swept off the black
beard which he stuffed into his pocket.

Rosenblatt looked. "Kalmar!" he gasped, terror in his eyes.

"Yes, Kalmar," replied the man.

"Help!--" The cry died at his teeth.

"No, no," said Kalmar, shutting his fingers upon his windpipe.
"No noise. We are to have a quiet moment here. They are all too busy
to notice us. Listen." He leaned far down over the ghastly face of
the wretched man beneath him. "Shall I tell you why I am here? Shall
I remind you of your crimes? No, I need not. You remember them well,
and in a few minutes you will be in hell for them. Five years I
froze and burned in Siberia, through you." As he said the word "you"
he leaned a little closer. His voice remained low and soft, but his
eyes were blazing with a light as of madness. "For this moment,"
he continued gently, "I have hungered, thirsted, panted. Now it has
come. I regret I must hurry a little. I should like to drink this
sweet cup slowly, oh so slowly, drop by drop. But--ah, do not
struggle, nor cry. It will only add to your pain. Do you see this?"
He drew from his pocket what seemed a knife handle, pressed a spring,
and from this handle there shot out a blade, long, thin, murderous
looking. "It has a sharp point, oh, a very sharp point." He pricked
Rosenblatt in the cheek, and as Rosenblatt squirmed, laughed a
laugh of singular sweetness. "With this beautiful instrument I mean
to pick out your eyes, and then I shall drive it down through your
hea