OUT OF THE LION'S JAWS.
Things looked remarkably squally where I was concerned, when, on my exposure by the genuine tar, the inmates of the den gathered threateningly about me.
I attempted to draw my shooting-irons, but desisted as a measure of prudence when I saw that I should be killed before being allowed to do so.
It might have gone very hard with me, had it not been for the quick-wittedness of the mysterious being known as Shadow.
Several empty beer-glasses were on the table in front of him.
These he caught up, and swiftly and accurately hurled them at the lights—lamps being used in the place instead of gas.
Crash!
Crash!
Crash!
Ban-n-n-g!