Again Paul flung himself upon him, and this time the struggle between the two men was terrible in its intensity.
The face of Paul was white with concentrated rage, while the dilated eyes of the negro glared like those of a fiend.
Tristan's superior strength had nearly mastered his opponent, when, with a desperate effort, Paul grasped the portmanteau, and with one well-planted blow, brought the negro to the ground.
He lay where he had fallen, stunned and motionless.
Paul returned to the house carrying the precious burden with him. Two hours had nearly expired, and the time approached for his interview with Don Juan.
He carried the portmanteau to his apartment, unlocked it, took out the documents and placed them once more in his bosom, determined to carry them on his person at any risk.
"They must kill me before they obtain them," he muttered.
He looked at his watch. Two hours had fully expired. The interview was to take place at one o'clock. The hands upon the dial pointed to the hour.
He left his room in order to proceed to Don Juan's apartment; but upon the landing-place his steps were arrested by a strange and appalling sound.
That sound was the report of a pistol which reverberated through the hall below.