Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1916-06-14

4 breath ne heard the report OF q pistol
and knew that Popinot had fired at his
fugitive shadow.
As he brought one heel down with
crushing force on the sergent's wrist
freeing his foot, he was dimly con.
scious of the voice Of the commissaire
shouting frantic prayer to Popinot to
cease firing in the dark. Then the
painmaddened sergent crawled to his
knees, lunged blindly forward, knocked
the adventurer back in the act of rts.
ing, and fell on top Of him.
Hampered by two hundred pounds
Of fighting Frenchman, Lanyard felt
that the cause was lost, yet battled on
and would while breath was in him.
With a heave. q twist, and squirm
he slipped from under, and swinging a
fist at random, hurt his knuckles
against the mouth of the sergent.
Momentarily the latter relaxed his
hold, and Lanyard struggled to his
knees, only to go down as the indomit.
able sergent grappled second time.
Now, however. as they fell, Lanyard
was on top, and transferring both
hands to his antagonists left forearm.
he wrenched it up and around. There
was a cry Of pain, and he jumped clear
Of one no longer to BE reckoned with.
Nevertheless, as he had feared, the
delay caused by the struggle had
proved ruinous. He had only found
his feet when someone unknown
hurled himself bodily through the
gloom and wrapped his arms round
Lanyard's thighs. And as both went
down, two other bodies piled up on
top.
For the next minute or two Lanyard
fought blindly, madly, viciously, strik-
ing and kicking at random. For all
that-even with one sergent hors de
combat-they were three to one; and
though with the ferocity of sheer des-
peration he shook them all off, at one
time, and gained q few yards more,
1t was only again to be overcome and
borne down, crushed beneath the
weight OIL Tue turee.
His wind was going, his strength
leaving him. He mustered up every
ounce Of energy, all his wit and cour-
age, for one final effort; fought like
eat, tooth and nail; toiled once more
to his knees. with two antagonists
clinging to him like wolves to the
tanks of stag; shook one off, re-
gained his feet, swayed; and in one
final flash of ferocity dashed both
fists repeatedly into the face of him
who still chung to him.
That one was Popinot; he knew in
stinctively that this was so, and
fierce Joy filed him as he felt the
mans clutches relax and fall away and
guessed how brutal was the damage
he had done that fat, foul countenance.
Then, free, he made off. running,
stumbling, Keeling, gained the recep-
ton hall. flung open the door, and
needless of the picket who had fired at
him from below the window, threw
himself bodily down the steps and
away.
Three shots sped him through that
intricate tangle of the night-bound
park. But all few wide; and the pur-
suit-what little there was-blundered
off at haphazard and lost itself.
He came to the wall, crept along in
shelter Of its deeper shadow until he
found tree with a low-swung branch
that jutted out over the street, climbed
this, edged outward, and dropped to
the sidewalk.
A shout from the direction OF the
nearest gate greeted his appearance.
He turned and dashed of. Running
feet for time pursued him, and once
he heard the rumble of motor. But
he recovered quickly. regained his
wind, and ran we'll. with long, steady.
ground-consuming strides, and doubled,
turned, and twisted in manner to
wake the envy of the most subtle fox.
The pursuit failed once more. In
time he felt warranted In slowing
down to a rapid walk.
WEAKNESS was now q heavy burden
upon him, and his spirit numbed with
desperate desire fer rest; but his pace
did not flag nor his purpose falter
from its goal.
1t was long walk to which he set
himself and, as soon as he felt conf.
dent OF freedom from espionage, di.
rect one. He plodded without falter.
ing to the one place where he could
feel sure Of finding his beloved, If she
lived and were free. He knew that
she had net forgotten, and in his heart |
he knew that she would never again
of her own will fail him.
Nor had she, when-weary and
spent from that heart-breaking climb
up the merciless activity Of the Butte
Montmartre-he staggered rather than
walked past the sleepy verger and
found his way through the crowding
shadows to the softly luminous heart
Of the cathedral Of the Sacre-C Occur,
and found her kneeling, her head bent
upon hands resting across the back of
the little chair before her, slight and
timid figure lost and lonely in the long
ranks Of empty chairs that filled the
body OF the nave.
Slowly, almost fearfully, he went to
her, and silently slipped into the chair
by her side.
She knew, without looking up, that
It was he.
After little her hand stole out to
his, closed round his fingers and drew
him forward with gentle, insistent