might never return again. Nor was it until Jonathan had replaced
the ball in his pocket that he appeared to awaken from the trance
that the sight of the object had sent him into. But no sooner had
the cause of this strange demeanor disappeared into our hero's
breeches-pocket than he arose as with an electric shock. In an
instant he became transformed as by the touch of magic. A sudden
and baleful light flamed into his eyes, his face grew as red as
blood, and he clapped his hand to his pocket with a sudden and
violent motion. "Ze ball!" he cried, in a hoarse and strident
voice. "Ze ball! Give me ze ball!" And upon the next instant our
hero beheld the round and shining nozzle of a pistol pointed
directly against his forehead.

For a moment he stood as though transfixed; then in the mortal
peril that faced him, he uttered a roar that sounded in his own
ears like the outcry of a wild beast, and thereupon flung himself
bodily upon the other with the violence and the fury of a madman.

The stranger drew the trigger, and the powder flashed in the pan.
He dropped the weapon, clattering, and in an instant tried to
draw another from his other pocket. Before he could direct his
aim, however, our hero had caught him by both wrists, and,
bending his hand backward, prevented the chance of any shot from
taking immediate effect upon his person. Then followed a struggle
of extraordinary ferocity and frenzy--the stranger endeavoring to
free his hand, and Jonathan striving with all the energy of
despair to prevent him from effecting his murderous purpose.

In the struggle our hero became thrust against the edge of the
table. He felt as though his back were breaking, and became