'Curse it!' cried the man. 'I'll give it you! Hands up, you old fool! Do you think I'm here for fun?'
And he raised the revolver.
'I shall not put my hands up.'
'I'll count five,' said the man grimly, 'and if you don't—'
'Count.'
'One!... two!... three! Can't you see I mean it?'
Hugo perceived plainly the murderous, wild look on the man's face. He knew what it was to feel murderous. He knew that in a fit of homicide all considerations of prudence, all care for the future, vanish away, that the mind is utterly monopolized by the obsession of the one single desire.
Polycarp disdainfully sneered:
'Four!'
Hugo could withstand the strain no more. He bounded out from his concealment, and snatched the revolver from the man's hand.