Dumont stood over the prostrate figure, softly chuckling, and stowed away the blackjack which had dealt the blow. The figure of Dennis lay motionless, arms outflung; his profile was visible against the rug, and the eyes were closed. His assailant eyed him for a moment, then stepped to the window and drew down the blind. A single electric bulb lighted the room.
Dumont returned to his victim. From his pocket he produced a handkerchief folded and padded with cotton. From another pocket he took a thin flat vial of chloroform which he poured heavily over the handkerchief; the fumes sickened the air. Then he knelt, and put a hand half under Dennis, feeling the heart.
"Good!" he muttered with an air of pride. He spoke in French, his voice low. "It was a good job. The bump on his head will not be observed. They will think it suicide."
And then sudden wild surprise and consternation convulsed his features. His left hand, beneath Dennis, was suddenly seized and twisted by iron fingers. Dumont, a startled oath on his lips, was pulled forward off his balance and fell headlong over his victim. Both bodies heaved madly.
Across the would-be assassin the big figure of Tom Dennis sprawled heavily. Dumont had been entirely taken by surprise. Dennis seized the handkerchief and clapped it over the face of his opponent.
The Frenchman fought. He struggled viciously, silently, desperately; he struck with fists and nails and knees, biting at the hand which held the bandage across his mouth and nose.
"No use, my friend," said Dennis, speaking half-forgotten French. "You didn't hit quite hard enough."
The convulsive struggles of Dumont, held helpless by sheer weight, quieted into jerky movements. Tom Dennis knocked away the saturated handkerchief and turned the limp figure on its face. He shook out the handkerchief and knotted the wet linen about the wrists of Dumont. Then, weakly, he caught at a chair and pulled himself erect.
Dennis felt deathly sick. That clip over the ear had been a shrewd one, and in the closed room the fumes of the narcotic reeked from the bottle which had spilled its entire contents on the floor. Dizzy and staggering, he groped his way to the window and flung it open. He knelt there, his head on the window-sill, bathing himself in the fresh air.
"A near thing!" he muttered. "A near thing!"