the top of the tower, at the side away from the road. He saw
nothing until Raoul, climbing up by the ladders on the inside,
leaped on the platform and rushed at him like a crazy lynx.

"Now!" he cried, "no hole to hide in here, rat! I'll squeeze the
lies out of you."

He gripped Prosper by the head, thrusting one thumb into his eye,
and pushing him backward on the scaffolding.

Blinded, half maddened by the pain, Prosper thought of nothing but
to get free. He swung his long arm upward and landed a heavy blow
on Raoul's face that dislocated the jaw; then twisting himself
downward and sideways, he fell in toward the wall. Raoul plunged
forward, stumbled, let go his hold, and pitched out from the tower,
arms spread, clutching the air.

Forty feet straight down! A moment--or was it an eternity?--of
horrible silence. Then the body struck the rough stones at the foot
of the tower with a thick, soft dunt, and lay crumpled up among
them, without a groan, without a movement.

When the other men, who had hurried up the ladders in terror, found
Leclere, he was peering over the edge of the scaffold, wiping the
blood from his eyes, trying to see down.

"I have killed him," he muttered, "my friend! He is smashed to
death. I am a murderer. Let me go. I must throw myself down!"

They had hard work to hold him back. As they forced him down the