Surprised and alarmed, I sprang into the saddle, and, as the sound of horses approaching at a rapid rate greeted my ears, I started off down the road after my late companion. My first thought was that brigands were upon us. Glancing back, I saw a number of horsemen riding furiously down upon me. I heard loud oaths in Italian, and orders to halt. Without heeding them, I spurred on, and drawing my revolver, determined to sell my life as dearly as possible. The next moment a volley of shots rang out, and my horse stumbled and fell. Before I could rise I was surrounded by three gendarmes and a rough crowd of men, nearly all of whom were half mad with drink and excitement. Cries of joy were heard on all sides, and a dozen hands seized me in no gentle grasp. “What do you want?” I cried. “We want you,” replied one of the gendarmes, stepping forward, “Your name is Anton Prèhznev!” My heart stood still. The police had tracked me! “Well, and if it is? What then?” I asked. “We arrest you for murder and conspiracy!” His words gave my arms a demoniacal strength. In a moment I had freed myself, and scarcely knowing why I did so, I quickly pointed my revolver at a man who attempted to recapture me, and pulled the trigger. There was a bright flash, a report, and the man fell back into the arms of one of his companions. Cries of “Kill him!” “Shoot him!” “Hang him!” were heard on all sides, while I stood, revolver in hand, ready to defend myself. “Let’s take him back to old Vincenti’s and hear what he’s got to say,” said a tall man, who seemed to be leader. This proposition met with general disfavour, especially from one officious man, the leader of the band of brigands who had resolved to assist the gendarmes in my capture, who produced a long pair of reins, and leading the way to a spreading oak-tree that stood near, exclaimed, “Here’s a good limb. Come, fetch him along.” But the tall man demurred and had his way. “If he can’t give a proper account of himself, we’ll make short work of him,” he said. I attempted to explain, but a pistol was held at my head with a peremptory command to be silent. My arms were then bound, and I was marched back to the half-ruined villa and placed in one corner of the common room of the inn. The crowd demanded wine, which was served by Vincenti. The girl Ninetta stood at the door looking at me curiously, and I thought rather pityingly. My trial then began. It was brief and to the point. They had received my description from both the English and Russian police, and by the latter a large reward had been offered for my capture. They had tracked me thus far, and by the random shot I had fired I had mortally wounded one of their companions.