windows and the very carpets from the floor in their overwhelming rage
against this German cafe.

That apaches had entered with them the mob cared nothing; the red lust
of destruction blinded them to everything except their terrible
necessity for the annihilation of this place.

If they saw murder done, and robbery--if they heard shots in the
tumult and saw pistol flashes through the dust and grey light of
daybreak, they never turned from their raging work.

Out of the frightful turmoil stormed Neeland and Sengoun, their
pistols spitting flame, the two women clinging to their ragged
sleeves. Twice the apaches barred their way with bared knives,
crouching for a rush; but Sengoun fired into them and Neeland's
bullets dropped the ruffian in the striped jersey where he stood over
Stull's twitching body; and the sinister creatures leaped back from
the levelled weapons, turned, and ran.

Through the gaping doorway sprang Sengoun, his empty pistol menacing
the crowd that choked the shadowy street; Neeland flung away his
pistol and turned his revolver on those in the cafe behind him, as
Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl crept through and out into the
street.

The crowd was cheering and shouting:

"Down with the Germans! To the Brasserie Schwarz!"

An immense wave of people surged suddenly across the rue Vilna, headed
toward the German cafes on the Boulevard; and then, for the first
time, Neeland caught sight of policemen standing in little groups,
coolly watching the destruction of the Cafe des Bulgars.

Either they were too few to cope with the mob, or they were
indifferent as to what was being done to a German cafe, but one thing
was plain; the police had not the faintest idea that murder had been
rampant in the place. For, when suddenly a dead body was thrown from
the door out on the sidewalk, their police whistles shrilled through
the street, and they started for the mob, resolutely, pushing,
striking with white-gloved fists, shouting for right of way.

Other police came running, showing that they had been perfectly aware
that German cafes were being attacked and wrecked. A mounted inspector
forced his horse along the swarming sidewalk, crying:

"_Allons! Circulez! C'est defendu de s'attrouper dans la rue! Mais
fichez-moi le camp, nom de Dieu! Les Allemands ne sont pas encore dans
la place!_"

Along the street and on the Boulevard mobs were forming and already
storming three other German cafes; a squadron of Re