After a few moments’ search I found it standing under a bench near the window. Handling it with the utmost care—for it was already charged with a sufficient quantity of dynamite to wreck the whole street—I drew it forth and found it had the appearance of a small, black, tin deed box, with handles at each end, while upon the side the name “F. Evans, Esq.,” had been painted in white capitals. I was just bending to lift it from the ground, when I was startled at feeling myself seized from behind. “Ah! You are my prisoner!” cried a voice, which, in a moment, I recognised as that of Guibaud, who had evidently followed me into the house. At first both my arms seemed pinioned, but not for long. In a few seconds I had recovered my breath, wrested my right arm free, and drawn my revolver. It flashed across my mind that we were alone, and that it was imperative I should overpower him. “Let me go, curse you!” I cried in French. “I give you warning that if you don’t I’ll fire into that box and blow you to the devil!” “Do it,” he replied. “You would die too. I arrest you for the manufacture of explosives.” “Don’t make too sure of your prey,” I said, at the same time taking him off his guard, and freeing myself by dint of a great effort. In the dim uncertain light, I saw something lying upon the bench, and snatched it up. It was a hammer. “_Sacré_,” hissed Guibaud, “you shall not escape now I have caught you in the act,” and his dark form darted forward. I was only just in time. Raising the hammer, I brought it down with a crushing blow upon his skull. Uttering a loud cry of pain, he reeled backwards and fell. Without a moment’s hesitation I cast the hammer aside, thrust the revolver into my pocket, and grasping the box, dashed downstairs to the street door. At that moment I heard a man passing outside, whistling a music-hall air. It was Grinevitch; I knew that no one was watching outside. Opening the door, I carried the box down the steps and hurried quickly away in the opposite direction to that by which I had approached. Walking down Deacon Street, in order to return to the Walworth Road, I was surprised to find so many police constables, for fully a dozen passed me. Nevertheless, I was unmolested, and on gaining the main thoroughfare hailed a passing hansom, and placing the box on the seat beside me, drove to my chambers. I had not been joined by Grinevitch as I had arranged, and supposed that he had remained behind to ascertain the cause of the sudden arrival of the police. It was well that I left the house as quickly as I did, for I afterwards learnt that a raid was made upon the place almost immediately. But beyond finding three rooms full of furniture, some locksmith’s tools, and the chief spy lying insensible, their vigilance was unrewarded.