ce,
strong hands on his throat, a heavy weight crushing his chest.

"I am lost!" flashed through his mind.

"I mean to find out the truth!" his will declared.

With all the force of resistant muscle and will he disengaged himself
from the power crushing him to death; seized an arm by chance, hung on
to it, gripped it, threw off the man, ran to the switch, shouting:

"Help!"

Again, Fandor thought he was done for: the switch acted, but no light
flashed forth!

They had cut the wire!

Men were holding on to him: their grip was tightening!

A voice gave a strangled cry.

"Help!"

A strange voice! Whose?

Fandor was weakening. His right hand seemed to be caught in a vise which
would break and crush it: it was growing tighter and tighter: it was
wrenching his arm, was dragging him backwards: it would fracture his
shoulder blade! Who?... Who?...

By a miraculous effort he freed himself. He leaped away; sprang to the
mantelpiece; seized a pocket electric torch he had placed there--clac--a
light flashed out!... Fandor saw, recognised his attacker!...

Ah! The form he had seen before--a slim figure, clothed in black!... Ah,
this murderer, whose face was concealed by a hooded mask!

Fandor shouted at him.

"Fantomas! It's you and I, Fantomas!"

But, already, this mysterious bandit, unmasked by the unexpected light,
had rushed on our journalist.

The electric torch was extinguished.

The struggle recommenced, fierce, formidable, desperate! Fandor was
seized by the throat in a strangling grip: he was choking!

His right arm, so twisted, so bruised, was powerless--and in that hand,
now so deadened and helpless that it seemed detached from his body, was
his revolver. He must shoot, though almost powerless in the formidable
grip of the bandit. He must shoot if he was to be saved. He managed to
pull the trigger.

There was a loud report.

Fandor felt himself flung towards the wall. The vise loosed its grip.
There was a terrific din. The window panes were shattered, a heavy piece
of furniture was pushed aside, oscillated, fell with a crash; then a
sudden silence; but a silence broken by gaspings, loud breathings,
hoarse sounds, an agonising death rattle.

The dead pause seemed interminable.... Fandor was about to shoot again,
when a voice close to him cried:

"He is escaping!..."

Jerome Fandor recognised that voice!...

Another voice said:

"We must have a light!"

A wax match flamed and flared.