make use of their weapon. Once or twice Makkabesku raised his gun to his
cheek and made a target of a fly on the wall. At the end of the
vestibule facing him was an old Roman image, the head and bust of an
Emperor, which had been unearthed in the neighbourhood of the house when
the foundations had been laid, and had been adopted forthwith as a
family relic. If this old imperial figurehead had been an enemy, let us
say the famous robber of the district, our marksman felt that he could
easily have shattered his skull for him.

The sun was now slowly descending from the sky, and the lower it sank,
the less golden and the more purple grew the light which it threw upon
the ancient monument opposite, till the shadow of an adjacent column
fell softly across it and hid it half from view.

Suddenly it seemed to Makkabesku as if he saw the shadow of a human head
moving beside the shadow of the column.

The breath died away on his lips--someone was lurking there!

"Who is there?" he cried, in a voice half choked with terror. The same
instant there stood before him at the opposite end of the
corridor--Fatia Negra!

Yes, there the figure was just as it had been described to him,
enfolded in a black atlas mantle, with a black mask across its face.

"Stay where you are, don't come here!" cried the armed Makkabesku, in an
agony of terror, "or I'll shoot you through," and as the mask continued
to advance, he hurriedly fired off the left barrel of the gun.

The smoke of the powder cleared away, Fatia Negra stood there unwounded,
he was coming nearer and nearer!

Ah, those little shots could not hurt him, of course--but now he shall
have the bullet with the steel point.

As the first shot was fired, Makkabesku's wife came running out of the
kitchen and came face to face with the robber. He immediately seized her
arm with his muscular hand and flung her back into the kitchen the door
of which he locked upon her.

Mr. Makkabesku permitted all this to go on before his very eyes, but he
had raised the gun and held it firmly pressed against his cheek, he
wanted the robber to draw nearer still that he might make quite sure of
him.

When there were only three yards between them he aimed right at the
middle of the intruder, pressed the trigger of the gun and the right
barrel also exploded.

Yet the report was followed by no death cry--and Fatia Negra still stood
in front of him unscathed.

Paralyzed with terror Makkabesku continu