himself and this enemy he had so woefully underestimated. Ten feet,
and he might have been able to whirl, draw his pistol, and end the
affair.

The coup de grace came suddenly: a blow that caught Quasimodo full
on the point of the jaw. He sagged and went sprawling upon his
face. The victor turned him over and raised a heel.... No! He
was neither Prussian nor Sudanese black. He was white; and white
men did not stamp in the faces of fallen enemies.

But there was one thing a white man might do in such a case without
disturbing the ethical, and he proceeded about it forthwith: Draw
the devil's fangs; render him impotent for a few hours. He
deliberately knelt on one of the outspread arms and calmly emptied
the insensible man's pockets. He took everything - watch, money,
passport, letters, pistol, keys - rose and dropped them into the
river. He overlooked Quasimodo's belt, however. The Anglo-Saxon
idea was top hole. His fists had saved his life.

CHAPTER m


Hawksley heard the panting of an engine and turned his head. Dimly
he saw a giant bridge and a long drab train moving across it. He
picked up the fallen man's cap and tried it on. Not a particularly
good fit, but it would serve. He then trotted round the deckhouse
to the street side, jumped to the wharf, and sucking the cracked
knuckles of his right hand fell into a steady dogtrot which carried
him to the station he had left so hopefully an hour and a half gone.