“Well, by Jove!” exclaimed Colton. “I’ve seen knife-play in Mexico by the best of the Greasers, but nothing like this.” 

 “Zere is no one like ‘Ze Wonderful Whalley,’” declared that artist coolly, as he gathered his knives, all except the one that held the ace of hearts. He stepped back. “You look at ze spot,” he added, addressing Haynes. 

 Haynes moved forward to draw out the blade. 

 There was a cry from Helga and Colton. Something struck the wood so close to his ear that he felt the wind of it, and the handle of one of the big blades quivered against his cheek. 

 “Eet is for warning,” said “The Wonderful Whalley” urbanely. “Ze heart, eet could——” 

 He choked as the powerful grasp of Johnston closed on his throat. Haynes and Colton ran forward; but there was no need. The man was passive. 

 “Eeet was onlee a trick,” he said. “I am insult. I go home.” 

 “Shall we let him go?” said Haynes undecidedly. 

 The question was settled for them. With a sudden blow, the juggler knocked down Johnston, dodged between Haynes and Colton, caught his knife from the door as he ran with great swiftness, and threatening back pursuit at the ready point, disappeared not toward the Sand Spit station, but straight over the hills. The baffled captors looked at each other in dismay. 

 “We’ve got a loose wild animal to deal with now,” said Colton. 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT THE UNHORSED NIGHTFARER

ROUND the big fireplace with its decorations of blue-and-white Colonial china, which many a guest by vast but vain inducements had tried to buy from the little hostelry, sat Dick Colton, Haynes and old Johnston. The clock had struck nine some minutes earlier. 

R

 “Your brother couldn’t have caught the afternoon train,” remarked Haynes. “Was he to ride over?” 

 “Yes, I arranged for a saddle-horse to meet him at Amagansett,” answered Colton. 

 “Reckon the Professor and Miss Dolly stopped at the fishermen’s for dinner,” opined the old man, 

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