and fled down a dark
alley, pursued by the ruffian.

"I'll have you," he exclaimed after a few seconds as he seized in his
powerful hand one altogether as soft and slight.

"You shall dance for it," a masculine voice broke in, and under the soft
delicate skin of the hand the Slasher felt himself grasped by muscles of
iron. For some seconds nothing was heard save the sounds of a deadly
strife.

The struggle was short, for the ruffian, although of athletic make and
of first rate ability in rough and tumble fights, found he had met his
master; he measured his length on the ground.

Burning with rage the Slasher returned to the charge, whereupon the
defender of La Goualeuse showered upon the cut-throat's head a
succession of blows so weighty and crushing and so completely out of the
French mode of fighting that the Slasher was mentally as well as bodily
stunned by them and gave up, muttering, "I'm floored. Except the
Skeleton with his iron bones and the Schoolmaster, no one till now could
brag of having set his foot on my neck."

"Well, come and drink a glass and you shall know who I am," said the
Unknown. "Come, don't nurse a grudge against me."

"Bear malice? Not a bit of it! You're best man, make no mistake!"

The three, now upon the best terms, directed their steps towards a
tavern. As the Unknown followed his companions a charcoal-seller
approached him and whispered in German, "Be on your guard, _Your
Highness_!" The Unknown waved his hand carelessly and entered the
tavern.

Over their drinks the three related to each other their histories.

The Slasher was a man of tall stature, with light hair and enormous red
whiskers. Notwithstanding his terrible surname his features expressed
rather brutal hardihood and unconquerable boldness, than ferocity. In
his childhood he had strolled about with an old rag and bone picker, who
almost knocked the life out of him. He had never known his parents. His
first employment was to help knockers cut horses' throats at Montfaucon
till cutting and slashing became a rage with him and he was turned out
of the slaughter-house for spoiling the hides. Later he enlisted and
served three years. Then one day the bullying of the sergeant roused the
old rage and he turned on him and cut and slashed as if he had been in
the slaughter-house. That got him fifteen years in the hulks. Now he was
a lighterman on the Seine rafts.

Sweet-Throat was not over sixteen and a half. A forehead of t