A resounding slap sounded as a hand like leather met the man's face. Edith screamed. "Talk up!" "We--arranged--it--this afternoon," gasped the man. Jim flung him to the floor and advanced on the pallid Edith. She retreated before him. He was about to clasp her when a voice rang out. "Hands up!" He swung round to find his late victim brandishing a revolver. An ugly leer crossed his face. He evidently meant business. Jim stared at the revolver. "Put 'em up or I'll drill you. I can plead the unwritten law. I've got you now, my buck-jumping desperado." Jim coolly blew his nose. "Put 'em up!" He put up his hands and dropped the handkerchief. He stooped to pick up the latter and, with a lightning movement, caught the edge of the mat and pulled with all his strength. The man, standing on the end of it, came to earth with a crash. Jim flew at him and made for the hand that held the gun. Over and over they went like cats. Then it was that Edith lent a hand--to her confederate. She ran to the dressing-table and took up a small penknife. Jim was leaning over his victim, wresting the gun from his hand, when she reached him. The knife came down twice in his shoulder. The intense pain caused him to drop the gun, but he picked it up again, hurled his inert opponent across the room, and went to Edith. The knife dropped from her fingers as she saw the blood streaming down his white shirtfront. "I don't fight wimmen," he growled. "There ain't nothing I can do to you, 'cept this." He suddenly caught her and, holding both her wrists in one hand, with the other tore every shred of clothing from her.... Then without a word he strode out of the room. "I'm through with this place," he muttered. "Bright lights! Gosh, I'm looking for where they don't shine so strong." Somewhere in England were the graves of his ancestors. He didn't want to see the graves of his forefathers, even if he could find them, but the desire to give London the "once over" was now stronger than ever. The next day he booked a steamer berth and packed his bags. CHAPTER III SOCIAL ADVANCEMENT Jim's first impression of London was an ocean of flying mud, through which myriads of phantasmagorial creatures and things moved in sullen, unceasing procession; an all-enveloping wall of brown fog; and a roar like unto some monster in pain. When he stood on the Embankment and strove to get a glimpse of the river, he came to the conclusion that "the hub of the Universe" was not up to specification. The famous Strand amazed him by its narrowness and its shortness. The buildings were dirtier than any buildings he had ever seen before, and the people cold, self-contained, units who seemed visibly to shrink back into their shells at his every attempt to hold conversation.