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He shinned excitedly up a tree and looked back.

His pursuers had stopped.

But the hope that was in Rainsford's brain when he climbed died, for he saw in the shallow valley that General Zaroff was still on his feet.

But Ivan was not.

The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, had not wholly failed.

Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack took up the cry again.

"Nerve, nerve, nerve!" he panted, as he dashed along.

A blue gap showed between the trees dead ahead.

Ever nearer drew the hounds.

Rainsford forced himself on toward that gap.

He reached it.

It was the shore of the sea.

Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of the chateau.

Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed.

Rainsford hesitated.

He heard the hounds.

Then he leaped far out into the sea…

When the general and his pack reached the place by the sea, the Cossack stopped. For some minutes he stood regarding the blue-green expanse of water. He shrugged his shoulders. Then be sat down, took a drink of brandy from a silver flask, lit a cigarette, and hummed a bit from Madame Butterfly.

General Zaroff had an exceedingly good dinner in his great paneled dining hall that evening.

With it he had a bottle of Pol Roger and half a bottle of Chambertin.

Two slight annoyances kept him from perfect enjoyment.

One was the thought that it would be difficult to replace Ivan; the other was that his quarry had escaped him; of course, the American hadn't played the game-so thought the general as he tasted his after-dinner liqueur.

In his library he read, to soothe himself, from the works of Marcus Aurelius.

At ten he went up to his bedroom.

He was deliciously tired, he said to himself, as he locked himself in.

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