Suddenly he found his strength of limb. With a guttural howl he
clasped his hands to his eyes and fled blindly into his bedroom.
Hurling his long, shivering frame upon the bed, he tried to shut
out the enticing call of the thiag of death. How long he quivered
there, shuddering and struggling, he could not have told. In the
end--and as suddenly as he had fled--he leaped up and with a shrill
laugh dashed back into the other room.

There was no hesitation in his body now. With a maniacal glee he
rushed upon the devilish contrivance in the corner, tearing the axe
from its place with ruthless hands. Throughout the building rang
the sounds of smashing wood, furious blows of steel upon wood, and
high above the din arose the laugh of Elias Droom. In two minutes,
the guillotine lay in chips and splinters about the room--destroyed
even as it was on the point of destroying him.

Dropping back against the wall, wet with perspiration, a triumphant
grin upon his face, Elias surveyed the wreckage. His muscles relaxed
and his eyes lost the dread that had filled them. The smile actually
grew into an expression of sweetness and peace that his face had
never known before.

As he staggered to a chair close by, a great sigh of relief broke
from his lips.

"There!" he gasped. "It's over! it's over! My head is on
my shoulders--it really is after all! It is not rolling into the
corner--no! no! By my head--my own head, too--it was a close call
for you, Elias Droom. Now, I'll take what comes. I'll wait for
James Bansemer! I'll stick it out to the end. If he comes, he'll