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Updated: June 29, 2025
Not a word of the murderous lunge, the flash of steel, the viselike grip of the black-bearded man or the click of the handcuffs. That night I found Alcorn. "Did that fellow try to stab the Prince?" I asked. "Yes." "With a knife?" "No, a sword cane." "The papers didn't say so." "No, I didn't intend they should. Wouldn't have been pleasant reading for his folks in St. Petersburg.
The viselike pressure of the stalwart arms of his opponent crushed him in till his ribs seemed to bend and break under the breathless oppression, the iron force; but desperation nerved him, the Royallieu blood, that never took defeat, was roused now, for the first time in his careless life; his skill and his nerve were unrivaled, and with a last effort he dashed the Huissier off him, and lifting him up he never knew how as he would have lifted a log of wood, hurled him down in the white streak of moonlight that alone slanted through the peaked roofs of the crooked by-street.
Then, the viselike pressure on his chest relaxing slowly, he murmured in a faint voice: "The five thousand francs in the desk are Clotilde's. Tell her that the affair of the notary is settled, that she will recover from it enough to live upon."
Moments dragged by with agonizing slowness. Tom felt as if his last ounce of breath were being squeezed out by the viselike pressure. Suddenly a gravelly Western voice reached him, singing "Home on the Range." It drew closer, swelling into a foghorn drone as the lab door swung open. "Good old Chow!" Tom thought. "Thank heavens!"
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