The Penn's Grove record., 1884-05-17
THE MAD M~ARKSMAN.

| mad Just taken q turn, IN company
with Doctor Noirot, through the vast
gardens that surrounded his hospital,
and was advancing with him toward
the stoop of his own special dwelling.
The celebrated physician, whose partic-
ular field was insanity, was explaining
to me the case of one of his patients
whom we had met imam alley. At that
moment an explosion resounded a few
PAGES from us. 1 grasped my hosts
arm.
whats that" 1 asked. 'Has one
of your patients shot himself?"
Doctor Noirot smiled.
NO" said he, treasure yourself.
It's still another curious case / want
you to see"
And turning obliquely to the left, he
drew me toward a small pavilion, hid
den behind a grove of trees. He I'M
locked a door, led me across a narrow
vestibule, and we found ourselves in a
sort Of long court, surrounded by walls.
A man was there, of lofty stature, clad
in a strange hunting costume, recalling
the Mexican fashion. He had his back
against the wall of the pavilion, and, at
the moment we entered, raised his right
hand, armed with a pistol. He aimed
slowly, with a sure hand. | followed
the direction of the weapon and saw,
about twenty PAGES distant, at the foot
of the opposite wall, a white face with
a dark hole in the centre of the fore
head. 1t was. as well as l could judge
at that distance, the plaster mask of a
Greek head, IN which l thought 1 re-
cognized the classic type of Diana, the
huntress. The pistol was discharged.
The head did not move, not a fragment
few from it.
''Lookl" said the doctor to me in a
low voice. tits very curious. He
never misses his marx. All the balls
are lodged in the same place, in the
dark hole, smaller than a piece of a
hundred Sous.'
The man had drawn another pistol
from his belt. He fired. AS before
the mask remained intact The wea-
pom being loaded with several bullets,
in the American fashion, the marksnan
successfully discharged five or more
balls. Not one of them cut the fore
head of the white face. The doctor
laid his hand upon the shoulder of the
marksman who wheeled about. His
visage, though Unframed by a strong
beard, had an expression at nee ener-
getic and sad.
''Stop an instant" said the doctor to
him,
The mar made with his head a sign
of consent. Then the doctor led me to
the other end of the court, and, behind
the plaster mask, showed me a plate OF
blackened iron that protected the wall.
In the centre of the plate a round spot
glistened with reflections of lead pro-
duced by the fiattening of the balls.
"You see," said he, "that all the
balls pass through there. You VIII
not find Il of them elsewhere"
"Itis marvellous" answered /. "But
what strange history is associated with
this strange man"
Come" said the doctor to me, 81
will tell you all about it outside"
We again crossed the court and the
yestibule of the pavilion.
This unfortunate man." said my
host, ''cails himself Guido Ventura.
Probably he is an American. 1t was
from there, at all events, that this one
came to France. You may have seen
him last year atthe Alcazar D'Automne,
where he gave four or five exhibitions
and would have had all Paris running
to see him if a terrible event had not
suddenly interrupted the course of his
representations. There is an exciting
story involved, that l certainly am the
only person acquainted with, having
without aid, during the six months this
MAJ has been al animate here, succeeded
in IT lnstructing the details of it. Guido
Ventura, when he came to Paris, was