heart, and you will be dead. It will not hurt so very much," he
continued in a tone of regret. "No no, not so very much; not so
much as when you put out the light of my life, when you murdered
my wife; not so much as when you pierced my heart in betraying my
cause. See, it will not hurt so very much." He put the sharp blade
against Rosenblatt's breast high up above the heart, and drove it
slowly down through the soft flesh till he came to bone. Like a mad
thing, his unhappy victim threw himself wildly about in a furious
struggle. But he was like a babe in the hands that gripped him.
Kalmar laughed gleefully. "Aha! Aha! Good! Good! You give me much
joy. Alas! it is so short-lived, and I must hurry. Now for your
right eye. Or would you prefer the left first?"

As he released the pressure upon Rosenblatt's throat, the wretched
man gurgled forth, "Mercy! Mercy! God's name, mercy!"

Piteous abject terror showed in his staring eyes. His voice was to
Kalmar like blood to a tiger.

"Mercy!" he hissed, thrusting his face still nearer, his smile now
all gone. "Mercy? God's name! Hear him! I, too, cried for mercy for
father, brother, wife, but found none. Now though God Himself
should plead, you will have only such mercy from me." He seemed to
lose hold of himself. His breath came in thick sharp sobs, foam
fell from his lips. "Ha," he gasped. "I cannot wait even to pick
your eyes. There is some one at the door. I must drink your heart's
blood now! Now! A-h-h-h!" His voice rose in a wild cry, weird and
terrible. He raised his knife high, but as it fell the Dalmatian,
who had been amusing himself battering the Polak about during these
moments, suddenly heaved the little man at Kalmar, and knocked him