erringer. He saw its silver mountings flash in the candle-glow, saw
its spurt of smoke and fire. But its report was drowned in the roar of
his automatic as it replied with a stream of lead and flame. He saw the
derringer fall and Kao crumple up like a jackknife. His brain turned
red as he swung his weapon on the others, and as he fired, he backed
toward the door. Then something caught him from behind, twisting his
head almost from his shoulders, and he went down.

He lost his automatic. Weight of bodies was upon him; yellow hands
clutched for his throat; he felt hot breaths and heard throaty cries. A
madness of horror possessed him, a horror that was like the blind
madness of Laocoon struggling with his sons in the coils of the giant
serpent. In these moments he was not fighting men. They were monsters,
yellow, foul-smelling, unhuman, and he fought as Laocoon fought. As if
it had been a cane, he snapped the bone of an arm whose hand was
throttling him; he twisted back a head until it snapped between its
shoulders; he struck and broke with a blind fury and a giant strength,
until at last, torn and covered with blood, he leaped free and reached
the door. As he opened it and sprang through, he had the visual
impression that only two of his assailants were rising from the floor.

For the space of a second he hesitated in the little hallway. Down the
stairs was light--and people. He knew that he was bleeding and his
clothes were torn, and that flight in that direction was impossible. At
the opposite end of the hall was a curtain which he judged must cover a
window. With a swift movement he tore down this curtain and found that
he was right. In another second he had crashed the window outward with
his shoulder, and felt the cool air of the night in his face. The door
behind him was still closed when he crawled out upon a narrow landing
at the top of a flight of steps leading down into the alley. He paused
long enough to convince himself that his enemies were making no effort
to follow him, and as he went down the steps, he caught himself grimly
chuckling. He had given them enough.

In the darkness of the alley he paused again. A cool breeze fanned his
cheeks, and the effect of it was to free him of the horror that had
gripped him in his fight with the yellow men. Again the calmness with
which he had faced Kao possessed him. The Chinaman was dead. He was
sure of that. And for him there was not a minute to lose.

After all,