er
an odd sensation, nodded and smiled.

"Oh!" said he; "I have."

He thrust his hand into his side-pocket, advancing meanwhile, and
sending a swift glance about. In the next moment the soldier found
himself sinking to the ground with an open jugular.

The Malay slipped within the grounds and disappeared in the shrubbery.
It was nearly an hour afterwards that the soldier's body was
discovered, and, the crowd of police and citizens arriving, it became
known to the garrison that the desperate criminal was immediately at
hand. The bugle sounded and the soldiers came tumbling out of barracks.
Then began a search of every corner of the post.

It is likely that a feeling of relief came to many a stout heart when
it was announced that the man had escaped by water, and was now being
swiftly carried down the channel towards the Golden Gate by the ebb
tide. He was clearly seen in a small boat, keeping such a course as was
possible by means of a rude board in place of oars. His escape had
occurred thus: Upon entering the grounds he ran along the eastern
fence, behind the shrubbery, to a transverse fence separating the
garden from the rear premises. He leaped the fence, and then found
himself face to face with a large and formidable mastiff. He killed the
brute in a strange and bold manner--by choking. There was evidence of a
long and fearful struggle between man and brute. The apparent reason
for the man's failure to use the knife was the first necessity of
choking the dog into silence and the subsequent need of employing both
hands to maintain that advantage.

After disposing of the dog the Flying Devil, wounded though he was,
performed a feat worthy of his _sobriquet_; he leaped the rear fence.
At the foot of the bluff he found a boat chained to a post sunk into
the sand. There was no way to release the boat except by digging up the
post. This the Malay did with his hands for tools, and then threw the
post into the boat, and pushed off with a board that he found on the
beach. Then he swung out into the tide, and it was some minutes
afterwards that he was discovered from the fort; and then he was so far
away, and there was so much doubt of his identity, that the gunners
hesitated for a time to fire upon him. Then two dramatic things
occurred.

Meeting the drifting boat was a heavy bank of fog which was rolling in
through the Golden Gate. The murderer was heading straight for it,
paddling vigorously with the tide. If once