“I’ll be back presently,” he said to a friend, “when they’ve settled down. I don’t want to see all the preliminaries and hand-shaking.” So he left his fifteen-guinea seat and went into another part of the club. On his return he found that it was all over. Rather an expensive drink, in fact. The contest had lasted precisely seventy-three seconds. It was a dismal affair, and brief as the test was there was no possible doubt but that Carpentier was Wells’s master. Both the men were extremely well-trained. Wells was in excellent health and could make no excuse on that score. At the very outset the Frenchman went straight for his man and planted a good left at his body before he knew the round had begun. Then he came in close and vigorously attacked him with a succession of short half-arm blows. He danced away for a moment and was at Wells again. The Englishman was entirely flabbergasted. His presence of mind was all gone. He sank his left in a futile attempt to guard his body, but Carpentier’s right was past it in a flash, whilst his left followed instantly to Wells’s nose. Wells tucked away his stomach and took a step back. Carpentier reached the body again, nevertheless; and as they went apart for a moment it was seen that Wells was stupefied--more by the very speed of the onslaught, spectators said, than by punishment. Which is as may be. Carpentier hit to hurt, and it is exceedingly unlikely that he failed. But it was again the science of boxing which deserted Wells. He seemed to be paralysed. He did nothing: no long left came out to keep the Frenchman away. He wouldn’t be kept away. A great lot of nonsense has been talked about his actual hypnotic power or that of his ebullient manager, M. Descamps. But the reason why Carpentier won victories in those days and has won others and greater ones since, is simply that he is an extremely good boxer with any amount of fighting spirit--the love of fighting, the sheer intention to win. That form of will-power does communicate itself to an opponent in the ring and with disastrous results, if he be a man of less vitality. Then Carpentier moved forward again and swung left followed by right hard upon Wells’s jaw. Then left and right at the body. Both blows landed on the mark--and it was all over. Wells reeled for an instant and then sank forward. At the call of Four he rolled over on to his back. He tried to draw up his knees, but he was completely knocked out, paralysed, and done. And--for those who like the national labels--the Champion of England lay beaten at the feet of the Champion of France, without having struck a single blow. CHAPTER IX JOE BECKETT AND BOMBARDIER WELLS