grey eyes glittered
with a Berserk joy as he made at Ezra. All the cautions of his father
and the exhortations of his mother were cast to the winds as he saw his
enemy standing before him. To do him justice, Ezra was nothing loth,
but sprang forward to meet him, hitting with both hands. They were well
matched, for both were trained boxers and exceptionally powerful men.
Ezra was perhaps the stronger, but Tom was in better condition.
There was a short eager rally--blow and guard and counter so quick and
hard that the eye could hardly follow it. Then a rush of railway
servants and bystanders tore them asunder. Tom had a red flush on his
forehead where a blow had fallen, Ezra was spitting out the fragments of
a broken tooth, and bleeding profusely. Each struggled furiously to get
at the other, with the result that they were dragged farther apart.
Eventually a burly policeman seized Tom by the collar, and held him as
in a vice.

"Where is he?" Tom cried, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his
enemy. "He'll get away after all."

"Can't 'elp that," said the guardian of the peace phlegmatically.
"A gen'elman like you ought to be ashamed. Keep quiet now! Would yer,
then!" This last at some specially energetic effort on the part of the
prisoner to recover his freedom.

"They'll get away! I know they will!" Tom cried in despair, for both
Ezra and his companion, who was none other than Burt, of African
notoriety, had disappeared from his sight. His fears proved to be only
too well founded, for when at last he succeeded in wresting himself from
the constable's clutches he could find no trace of his enemies. A dozen
bystanders gave a dozen different accounts of their movements.
He rushed from one platform to another over all the great station.
He could have torn his hair at the thought of the way in which he had
allowed them to slip through his fingers. It was fully an hour before
he finally abandoned the search, and acknowledged to himself that he had
been hoodwinked for the third time, and that a long week would elapse
before he could have another chance of solving the mystery.

He turned at last sadly and reluctantly away from the station, and
walked across to Waterloo Bridge, brooding over all that had occurred,
and cursing himself for his stupidity in allowing himself to be drawn
into a vulgar brawl, when he might have attained his end so much better
by quiet observation. It was some consolation, however