There is no position on earth where a man is more utterly helpless than when lying upon the ground, with another man kneeling upon his arms. He may kick and struggle as much as he pleases, the only result is to wear out his strength.
The fallen one recognized this fact, apparently, for he lay still.
Freyberger, breathing hard from his exertions, took a matchbox from his waistcoat pocket, lit a match and cast its light upon the face of the man beneath him.
The man was Hellier.
CHAPTER XXXII
“MY GOD!” said Freyberger. “You!”
“Let me get up,” said the other. “Yes, it is I; we have both been mistaken it seems.”
Freyberger said nothing, but rose to his feet and flung the extinguished match away. They were again in darkness, but the detective did not strike another light.
For a moment he was too angry for speech. Certain in his own mind that he was dealing with Klein, triumphant at having captured him, his feelings may be imagined when he found beneath him, not the criminal for whom he had been seeking, but the interloper, Hellier.