his hand, and Jonathan striving with all the energy of despair to prevent him from effecting his murderous purpose.
In the struggle our hero became thrust against the edge of the table. He felt as though his back were breaking, and became conscious that in such a situation he could hope to defend himself only a few moments longer. The stranger’s face was pressed close to his own. His hot breath, strong with the odor of garlic, fanned our hero’s cheek, while his lips, distended into a ferocious and ferine grin, displayed his sharp teeth shining in the candlelight.
“Give me ze ball!” he said, in a harsh and furious whisper.
At the moment there rang in Jonathan’s ears the sudden and