e to face with two agents
of police on cycles.

They were about a hundred yards away and coming in his direction. They
instantly recognised him. They were the two men sent out by the
commissary.

In a moment, by the attitude of the two officers, Ralph Ansell realised
his danger. But too late. They threw down their cycles and fell upon
him.

For a few seconds there was a fierce struggle, but in desperation Ansell
drew his revolver and fired point-blank at one of his captors, who
staggered and fell back with a bullet-wound in the face.

Then in a moment the thief had wrenched himself free and was away.

The sound of the shot alarmed two other police-cyclists who were in the
vicinity, and, attracted by the shouts of the injured man's companion,
they were soon on the scene, and lost no time in pursuing the fugitive.

The chase was a stern one. Through narrow, crooked streets "The
American" ran with all speed possible, his endeavour being to reach a
narrow lane protected from wheeled traffic by posts at either end,
where he knew the cyclists would be compelled to dismount.

The quarter where he was, chanced to be a not altogether respectable
one, therefore the wild shouts of the pursuing cyclists brought no
assistance from the onlookers. Indeed, the people shouted to the
fugitive, crying:

"Run, young fellow! Run on and they won't get you! Run!"

And men and women shouted after him encouragingly.

With their cries in his ears, Ansell mended his pace, but his pursuers
were fast gaining upon him, and had almost overtaken him when he reached
the narrow passage between two high, dark-looking houses, close to the
river.

He was now near to the river-bank, and within sight of the Pont des
Peupliers, which crosses the Seine to Issy. The two police-agents threw
aside their cycles and sped after him, but he was too quick for them,
and when they had passed through the passage, they saw him dashing along
by the edge of the river.

In his mad haste he stumbled and fell, and his pursuers were instantly
upon him. But ere they could reach him he had jumped again to his feet
and, levelling his revolver, fired point-blank at them.

The bullet passed them harmlessly, but a group of men on their way to
work, attracted by the shot and seeing the thief fleeing from justice,
again shouted to him encouragingly, for the police of Paris are not in
good odour with the public, as are the police of London.

"Keep on, brave boy!" they