on.

"Halt, or die!" cried Verbitzsky, in a terrible voice.

The bombs were clearly to be seen in his hands. Every policeman in
Moscow knew of the destruction done, only six days before, by just
such weapons. The foremost men halted instantly. The impetus of those
behind brought all together in a bunch--nine expectants of instant
death. Verbitzsky spoke again:--

"If any man moves hand or foot, I'll throw these," he cried. "Listen!"

"Why, you fool," said Nolenki, a rather slow-witted man, "you can't
escape. Surrender instantly."

He drew his revolver and pointed it at us.

"Michael," said Verbitzsky to me, in that steely voice which I had
never before heard from my gentle comrade; "Michael, Nolenki can
shoot but one of us before he dies. Take this bomb. Now if he hits me
you throw your bomb at him. If he hits you I will throw mine."

"Infernal villains!" gasped the chief; but we could see his pistol
wavering.

"Michael," resumed Verbitzsky, "we will give Nolenki a chance for his
life. Obey me exactly! Listen! If Dmitry Nolenki does not jump down
into this pit before I say five, throw your bomb straight at him! I
will, at the moment I say five, throw mine at these rascals."

"Madman!" cried Nolenki. "Do you think to--"

He stopped as if paralyzed. I suppose he had suddenly understood that
the explosion of a bomb in that small, high-walled yard would kill
every man in it.

"One!" cried Verbitzsky.

"But I may not hit him!" said I.

"No matter. If it explodes within thirty feet of him he will move no
more."

I took one step forward and raised the bomb. Did I mean to throw it? I
do not know. I think not. But I knew we must make the threat or be
captured and hung. And I felt certain that the bomb would be exploded
anyway when Verbitzsky should say "Five." He would then throw his, and
mine would explode by the concussion.

"Two!" said Verbitzsky.

Dmitry Nolenki had lowered his pistol. He glanced behind him uneasily.

"If he runs, throw it!" said Verbitzsky, loudly. "THREE!"

The chief of the Moscow secret police was reputed a brave man, but he
was only a cruel one. Now his knees trembled so that we could see them
shake, and his teeth chattered in the still cold night. Verbitzsky
told me afterward that he feared the man's slow brain had become so
paralyzed by fright that he might not be able to think and obey and
jump down. That would have placed my comrade and me in a dreadful
dilemma, but quite a di