flashed through his brain then that the term cold steel was a misnomer.
The next moment his right hand had brought down the heavy knob of his
stout stick on the curly head of the Italian, and Pietro fell like a
log at his feet. Standish set his teeth, and as gently as possible drew
the stiletto from his arm, wiping its blade on the clothes of the
prostrate man. He thought it better to soil Pietro's suit than his own,
which was newer and cleaner; besides, he held, perhaps with justice,
that the Italian being the aggressor should bear any disadvantages
arising from the attack. Finally, feeling wet at the elbow, he put the
stiletto in his pocket and hurried off to the hotel.

[Illustration: WIPING ITS BLADE ON THE CLOTHES OF THE PROSTRATE MAN]

Tina fell back against the wall with a cry at the sight of the blood.
She would have fainted, but something told her that she would be well
advised to keep her senses about her at that moment.

"I can't imagine why he should attack me," said Standish, as he bared
his arm to be bandaged. "I never saw him before, and I have had no
quarrel with any one. It could not have been robbery, for I was too
near the hotel. I cannot understand it."

"Oh," began old Lenz, "it's easy enough to account for it. He----"

Tina darted one look at her father that went through him as the blade
had gone through the outstretched arm. His mouth closed like a steel
trap.

"Please go for Doctor Zandorf, papa," she said sweetly, and the old man
went. "These Italians," she continued to Standish, "are always