In the heart of it, I had a glimpse of Jimmy the Blacksmith, a slungshot to his wrist, smiting right and left, and cheering his cohorts. The sight gladdened me. There was my man, and I pushed through the crowd to reach him. This last was no stubborn matter, for the press parted before me like water. Jimmy the Blacksmith saw me while yet I was a dozen feet from him. He understood that he could not escape, and with that he desperately faced me. As I drew within reach, he leveled a savage blow with the slungshot. It would have put a period to my story if I had met it. The shot miscarried, however, and the next moment I had rushed him and pinned him against the walls of the warehouse in which the precinct's polls were being held. “I've got you!” I cried, and then wrenched myself free to give me distance. I was to strike no blow, however; my purpose was to find an interruption in midswing. While the words were between my teeth, something like a sunbeam came flickering by my head, and a long knife buried itself vengefully in Jimmy the Blacksmith's throat. There was a choking gurgle; the man fell forward upon me while the red torrent from his mouth covered my hands. Then he crumpled to the ground in a weltering heap; dead on the instant, too, for the point had pierced the spine. In a dumb chill of horror, I stooped and drew forth the knife. It was that weapon of the Bowery pawnshop which I had given the Sicilian. CHAPTER XI--HOW THE BOSS STOOD AT BAY FOR HIS LIFE WHEN I gave that knife to the Sicilian, I had not thought how on the next occasion that I encountered it I should draw it from the throat of a dead and fallen enemy. With the sight of it there arose a vision of the dark brisk face, the red kerchief, and the golden earrings of him to whom it had been presented. In a blurred way I swept the throng for his discovery. The Sicilian was not there; my gaze met only the faces of the common crowd--ghastly, silent, questioning, staring, as I stood with knife dripping blood and the dead man on the ground at my feet. A police officer was pushing slowly towards me, his face cloudy with apology. “You mustn't hold this ag'inst me,” said he, “but you can see yourself, I can't turn my blind side to a job like this. They'd have me pegged out an' spread-eagled in every paper of th' town.” “Yes!” I replied vaguely, not knowing what I said. “An' there's th' big Tammany Chief you're fightin',” went on the officer; “he'd just about have my scalp, sure. I don't see why you did it! Your heart must be turnin' weak, when you take to carryin' a shave, an' stickin' people like pigs!” “You don't think I killed him!” I exclaimed. “Who else?” he asked.