switch and turned on an electric light above
Philip's head.

"Blast you, let me look at you!" he thundered. "You're a white-faced,
sickly creature to call yourself a man! Can't you see this thing as I see
it? You're the sort that's had women, and plenty of them. Another will do
for you, and, my God! she is the only one I've looked at--I, Sylvanus
Power, mind--I, who have ruled fate and ruled men all my life--I want
her! Don't be a fool! Get out of my path. I've crushed a hundred such men
as you in my day."

Philip took up his hat.

"We are wasting time," he observed. "You are a cruder person than I
thought you, Mr. Power. I am sorry for you, if that's anything."

"Sorry for me? You?"

"Very," Philip continued. "You see, you've imbibed a false view of life.
You've placed yourself amongst the gods and your feet really are made of
very sticky clay.... Shall I find my own way out?"

"You can find your way to hell!" Power roared. "Use your toy pistol, if
you want to. You're going where you'll never need it again!"

He took a giant stride, a stride which was more like the spring of a
maddened bull, towards Philip. The veneer of a spurious civilisation
seemed to have fallen from him. He was the great and splendid animal,
transformed with an overmastering passion. There was murder in his eyes.
His great right arm, with its long, hairy fingers and its single massive
ring, was like the limb of some prehistoric creature. Philip's brain and
his feet, however, were alike nimble. He sprang a little on one side, and
though that first blow caught him just on the edge of the shoulder and
sent him spinning round and round, he saved himself by clutching at the
desk. Fortunately, it was his left arm that hung helpless by his side.
His fingers groped feverishly in the cavernous folds of his overcoat
pocket. Power, who had dashed against the wall, smashing the glass of one
of the pictures, had already recovered his balance and turned around. The
little revolver, with whose use Philip was barely acquainted, flashed
suddenly out in the lamplight. Even in that lurid moment he kept his
nerve. He aimed at the right arm outstretched to strike him, and pulled
the trigger. Through the little mist of smoke he saw a spasm of pain in
his assailant's face, felt the thundering crash of his other arm,
striking him on the side of the head. The room spun round. There was a
second almost of unconsciousness.... When he came to, he was lying with
his f