difficulty in performing.

"Great Caesar!" whispered Phil in awe.

"After a booze, he's as strong as a railway engine," returned Jim,
"and he goes plumb daffy. Murder or anything else doesn't matter a
hill of beans to him at a time like this."

"That sounds exceedingly pleasant."

"Pshaw!--you needn't mind. You'll know in lots of time, for he's happy
and gentle as a lark when he's really boozing. It is only when he
wakes up the morning after--after a ten hours' sleep--that the fun
begins.

"He killed a horse once with his bare hands. Got on its back and
strangled it somehow. He half-killed the old Police Chief. He got a
year in jail for that. They were going to send him to an asylum
afterwards, but he was such a fine workman and so decent at an
ordinary time, that Royce Pederstone and the Mayor gave their
guarantees and promised to attend to him any time he tried his
monkey-doodle business again."

Meantime, Hanson walked over to the front door and tested it. Then he
came toward the back one.

"Run!" shouted Langford, suiting prompt action to his word.

Phil remained a moment or two longer, trusting to his nimbleness of
foot for emergency.

He saw Hanson stoop and pick up a great, heavy, sledge, then spring
madly to the back door, swinging the big hammer above his head. With a
shivering crash the woodwork splintered.

Phil turned to run.

Another great crash and the whole door and its fastenings tumbled
outward, and that giant piece of infuriated humanity stood looking
about him, framed in the broken woodwork.

Phil heard a warning shout, as he rushed headlong.

But his toe caught on an iron girder and he came down heavily on his
face. As he sprang to his feet again he heard further shouting all
about him. He turned his head. Hanson was springing toward him and
making on him with a speed Phil could not realise in a man so weighty;
a speed he could not begin to emulate.

The great hairy hands were almost on his coat, when something
happened.

He staggered, balanced himself and stood up sheepishly.

Hanson was on the ground, struggling, cursing and kicking viciously at
a rope which Royce Pederstone had cast smartly round his left foot.

Pederstone tugged with all his strength, and his horse lent her
weight, but together they could do no more than hold their own with
the fallen Vulcan. Hanson brought out a clasp-knife from his clothes,
opened it and slashed at the rope. He had it almost cut through,