n," he spluttered, "that I was acting for a poltroon who
pads himself to fight--"

"Oh, I know, I know!" said the Marquis, recklessly throwing various
parts of himself right and left about the field. "You are making a
mistake; but it can't be explained just now. I tell you the train has
come into the station!"

"Yes," said Dr. Bull fiercely, "and the train shall go out of the
station. It shall go out without you. We know well enough for what
devil's work--"

The mysterious Marquis lifted his hands with a desperate gesture. He
was a strange scarecrow standing there in the sun with half his old face
peeled off, and half another face glaring and grinning from underneath.

"Will you drive me mad?" he cried. "The train--"

"You shall not go by the train," said Syme firmly, and grasped his
sword.

The wild figure turned towards Syme, and seemed to be gathering itself
for a sublime effort before speaking.

"You great fat, blasted, blear-eyed, blundering, thundering, brainless,
Godforsaken, doddering, damned fool!" he said without taking breath.
"You great silly, pink-faced, towheaded turnip! You--"

"You shall not go by this train," repeated Syme.

"And why the infernal blazes," roared the other, "should I want to go by
the train?"

"We know all," said the Professor sternly. "You are going to Paris to
throw a bomb!"

"Going to Jericho to throw a Jabberwock!" cried the other, tearing his
hair, which came off easily.

"Have you all got softening of the brain, that you don't realise what
I am? Did you really think I wanted to catch that train? Twenty Paris
trains might go by for me. Damn Paris trains!"

"Then what did you care about?" began the Professor.

"What did I care about? I didn't care about catching the train; I cared
about whether the train caught me, and now, by God! it has caught me."

"I regret to inform you," said Syme with restraint, "that your remarks
convey no impression to my mind. Perhaps if you were to remove the
remains of your original forehead and some portion of what was once your
chin, your meaning would become clearer. Mental lucidity fulfils itself
in many ways. What do you mean by saying that the train has caught you?
It may be my literary fancy, but somehow I feel that it ought to mean
something."

"It means everything," said the other, "and the end of everything.
Sunday has us now in the hollow of his hand."

"Us!" repeated the Professor, as if stupefied. "What do you mean by
'