Then followed a struggle
of extraordinary ferocity and frenzy--the stranger endeavoring to
free 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
astounding detonation of a pistol-shot, and for a moment he
wondered whether he had received a mortal wound without being
aware of it. Then suddenly he beheld an extraordinary and
dreadful transformation take place in the countenance thrust so
close to his own; the eyes winked several times with incredible
rapidity, and then rolled upward and inward; the jaws gaped into
a dreadful and cavernous yawn; the pistol fell with a clatter to
the floor, and the next moment the muscles, so rigid but an
instant before, relaxed into a limp and listless flaccidity.
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