I advanced inside, closing the door behind me and snapping the lock. Neither of us said a word; no word was needed. The fighting-blood of each was up, and on each the square jaw that marked us both was set hard. I stepped up within a yard of him and looked him square in the eye. I pray God I may never be so angry again. "What explanation have you to offer?" I asked. His eye never wavered, though the blood left his face and lip; even then I admired his nerve. When he spoke his voice was even and natural. "Nothing," he sneered. "You have lost; that's all." Quick as thought, I threw back the taunt. "Lost the woman, yes, thank God; the book, never. I came for that, not for her. I demand that you turn over the copy." Again the cool smile and the steady voice. "You're a trifle late. I haven't a sheet; it is all gone." "You lie!" I flung the hot words fair in his teeth. A smile, mocking, maddening, formed upon his face. "I told you before you had lost. The book is copyrighted"--a pause, while the smile broadened--"copyrighted in my name, and sold." The instinct of battle, primitive, uncontrollable, came over me and the room turned dark. I fought it, until my hands grew greasy from the wounds where the nails bit my palms, then I lost control; of what follows all is confused. I dimly see myself leaping at him like a wild animal; I feel the tightening of the big neck muscles as my fingers closed on his throat; I feel a soft breath of night air as we neared the open window; then in my hands a sudden lightness, and in my ears a cry of terror. I awoke at a pounding on the door. It seemed hours later, though it must have been but seconds. I arose--and was alone. The window was wide open; in the street below, a crowd was gathering on the run, while a policeman's shrill whistle rang out on the night. A hundred faces were turned toward me as I looked down and I dimly wondered thereat. The knocking on the door became more insistent. I turned the lock, slowly, and a woman rushed into the room. Something about her seemed familiar to me. I passed my hand over my forehead--but it was useless. I bowed low and started to walk out, but she seized me by the arm, calling my name, pleadingly. Her soft brown hair was all loose and hanging, and her big eyes swimming; her whole body trembled so that she could scarcely speak. The grip of the white hand on my arm tightened. "Oh! You must not go," she cried; "you cannot." I tried gently to shake her off, but she clung more closely than before. "You must let me explain," she wailed. "I call God to witness, I was not to blame." She drew a case from the bosom of her dress.