spurned me without a hearing,
who heaped injustice and ignominy upon me, who drove me from country
to country, whereas I offered them superiority, invincibleness,
omnipotence!"

It is the eternal story of the unappreciated inventor, to whom the
indifferent or envious refuse the means of testing his inventions, to
pay him the value he sets upon them. I know it well--and also know all
the exaggeration that has been written upon this subject.

It is clearly no time for reasoning with Thomas Roch. My arguments
are entirely lost upon the hapless dupe of Ker Karraje and his
accomplices. In revealing to him the real name of the Count d'Artigas,
and denouncing to him this band and their chief I had hoped to wean
him from their influence and make him realize the criminal end they
have in view. My hope was vain. He does not believe me. And then what
does he care whether the brigand's name is Count 'd'Artigas or Ker
Karraje? Is not he, Thomas Roch, master of Back Cup? Is he not the
owner of these riches accumulated by twenty years of murder and
rapine?

Disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how I can touch
his ulcerated, irresponsible heart, I turn towards the door. It only
remains for me to withdraw. What is to be, will be, since it is out of
my power to prevent the frightful _denouement_ that will occur in a
few hours.

Thomas Roch takes no more notice of me. He seems to have forgotten
that I am here. He has resumed his manipulations without realizing
that he is not alone.

There is only one means of preventing the imminent catastrophe. Throw
myself upon Roch, place him beyond the power of doing harm--strike
him--kill him--yes, kill him! It is my right--it is my duty!

I have no arms, but on a near-by shelf I see some tools--a chisel and
a hammer. What is to prevent me from knocking his brains out? Once he
is dead I have but to smash the phials and his invention dies with
him. The warships can approach, land their men upon the island,
demolish Back Cup with their shells. Ker Karraje and his band will be
killed to a man. Can I hesitate at a murder that will bring about the
chastisement of so many crimes?

I advance to the shelf and stretch forth my hand to seize the chisel.

As I do so, Thomas Roch turns round.

It is too late to strike. A struggle would ensue. The noise and his
cries would be heard, for there are still some pirates not far off, I
can even now hear some one approaching, and have only just