ed
upward and clamped together like a vice--clamped on a palpitating human
throat--and in the twinkling of an eye the tentacles were wrapped about
him, and he and "The Red Crawl" were rolling over and over on the floor
and battling together.

"Serpice, you low-bred hound, I know you!" he whispered, as they
struggled. "You can't utter a cry--you shan't utter a cry--to bring
help. I'll throttle you, you beastly renegade, that's willing to sell
his own country--throttle you, do you hear?--before you shall bring any
of your mates to the rescue. Oh, you've not got a weak old man to fight
with this time! Do you know me? It's the 'cracksman'--the 'cracksman'
who went over to the police. If you doubt it, now that we're in the
moonlight, look up and see my face. Oho! you recognise me, I see. Well,
you will die looking at me, you dog, if you deny me what I'm after. I'll
loosen my grip enough for you to whisper, and no more. Now what's the
password that Clodoche must give to Margot to-night at 'The Twisted
Arm'? Tell me what it is; if you want your life, tell me what it is."

"I'll see you dead first!" came in a whisper from beneath the hideous
mask. Then, as Cleek's fingers clamped tight again and the battle began
anew, one long, thin arm shot out from amongst the writhing tentacles,
one clutching hand gripped the leg of the table, and, with a wrench and
a twist, brought it crashing to the ground with a sound that a deaf man
might have heard.

And in an instant there was pandemonium.

A door flung open, and clashing heavily against the wall, sent an echo
reeling along the corridor; then came a clatter of rushing feet, a voice
cried out excitedly: "Come on! come on! He's had to kill the old fool to
get it!" and Cleek had just time to tear loose from the shape with which
he was battling, and dodge out of the way when the man Merode lurched
into the room, with half a dozen Apaches tumbling in at his heels.

"Serpice!" he cried, rushing forward, as he saw the gasping red shape
upon the floor; "Serpice! Mon Dieu! what is it?"

"The cracksman!" he gulped. "Cleek!--the cracksman who went against us!
Catch him! stop him!"

"The cracksman!" howled out Merode, twisting round in the darkness and
reaching blindly for the haft of his dirk. "Nom de Dieu! Where?"

And almost before the last word was uttered a fist like a sledge-hammer
shot out, caught him full in the face, and he went down with a whole
smithy of sparks flashing and his