“I will go to bed. To-night there is no lock upon my door. If Double Dan comes, you will let me know?” He need not ask that question. Given consciousness and the ability to scream, all the house would know from Julius that the monster had arrived. “Why, certainly. But I can manage him.” Dempsi bit his lower lip, viewing his friend thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, I shall know the moment the firing starts--at the first bang I will be by your side.” Julius turned white. In moments of great excitement all great Romans go white. Cæsar Borgia had that failing. And for the matter of that, so had Nero, the celebrated fire-bug. “Firing?” he asked faintly. Dempsi nodded. “He is armed--certain to be. But remember this--and let it be in your mind all the time; the thought may comfort you--when you fall I shall be ready to take your place.” Julius stretched his neck forward. “When--when I fall?” he said unsteadily. “I’m not likely to fall if I keep to the carpets--it’s the par-kay that does me in.” “You will look up and see me”--Dempsi obviously relished the picture he drew--“perhaps the last thing you will ever see on earth--standing over your prostrate body, pierced, my poor Superbus, by a dozen bullets. I shall be there, face to face with your murderer!” Julius closed his eyes and his lips moved. Yet he was not at his devotional exercises. Before his horrified vision spread a veritable panorama of tragedy with one notable figure in the foreground somewhat inanimate. CHAPTER XXI “But you shall not die unavenged, my Superbus!” Dempsi’s affectionate hand was on his arm. Julius moved away from the fire; he had gone suddenly hot. “You’re sure he carries firearms?” Dempsi nodded. “Loaded? That’s against the lore, sir. A man could be pinched for that.” Mr. Dempsi treated the matter light-heartedly. Julius could not but feel that his indifference was almost criminal. “Certain,” he said carelessly. “I’ve never met a desperado yet--and I’ve met a few--that didn’t carry a loaded gun--generally throwing a hollow-nosed bullet. And they’re pretty good shots.” He appeared to take a pride in their marksmanship. Julius leered at him--there is no other description for the grimace. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said huskily. “Of course, my good lady----” Dempsi did not let him finish. He became suddenly serious as though the gravity of the situation had forced itself upon him. “Your wife? Have no fear, Superbus,” he said quickly. “She shall never want. I will make it my business to see that she is provided for. And your deed shall be commemorated: I promise you that. I myself have suffered from a thoughtless failure to immortalise my name. I have in my mind a great tablet of black marble, chaste of design. Simple yet grand. Plain, yet in a sense decorative. And an inscription in letters of gold: “‘To the memory of Julius Superbus, A Hero, a Gentleman and a Roman.’”