"Give me the child, I say."
Mr. Jones paled but did not move.
"Very good, then." The stranger turned to his attendants. "Rupert, Rudolph," he said.
Two revolver barrels flashed out.
Mr. Jones stood up hastily, the child clutched tightly in his arms. "What do you mean by threatening me like this? What right have you to the child? I never heard of such a thing; I shall inform the police."
"Porkhound," yelled the stranger, "do you defy me? me, Count Achtung von Eisenbahn? Give me the babe. I must have him. I will have him. He is ours—our Prince Fritz, the last of the Hohenzollerns."
The great moment had come. Jones's face lit up. Death—a hero's death—might claim him, but he would make democracy safe for the world.
"Last of the Hohenzollerns!" he shouted; "then, by Jove, this is going to be the last of him." And with a yell of triumph he hurled the infant out into the night.
From the child in its trajectory came a long ear-splitting shriek, followed by a gentle wailing.
Mr. Jones sat up and blinked his eyes. The professorial gentleman was still in the far corner; the lady was still opposite him; the child was wailing softly.