found his desire to gain time swiftly diminishing. Still,
when he spoke, it was with deliberation.

"My chauffeur--" he began slowly.

The burglar snapped at him like a dog. "To hell with your
chauffeur!" he cried. "Your chauffeur has run away. You'll
drive that car yourself, or I'll leave you here with the top
of your head off."

The face of the young man suddenly flashed with pleasure. His
eyes, looking past the burglar to the door, lit with relief.

"There's the chauffeur now!" he cried.

The big burglar for one instant glanced over his right
shoulder.

For months at a time, on Soldiers Field, the young man had
thrown himself at human targets, that ran and dodged and
evaded him, and the hulking burglar, motionless before him,
was easily his victim.

He leaped at him, his left arm swinging like a scythe, and,
with the impact of a club, the blow caught the burglar in the
throat.

The pistol went off impotently; the burglar with a choking
cough sank in a heap on the floor.