For a moment he held me thus, and then there was the sound of a laugh. Whether it was the man then standing before me in the opium den who thus laughed, or whether it was the man I had seen kneeling on my chest, a knife in his hand and my life at his mercy, I do not know, and matters nothing, for the face was the same. Then suddenly he turned from me, another being altogether. "No, don't, old man; think of the risk you run," I heard him say to his friend, laying a hand affectionately on the other's shoulder, those inscrutable eyes of his--all the cunning and cruelty gone--becoming liquid and appealing. But to myself I said: "One day--perhaps within the next hour, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in the far future--this man, knife in hand, will kneel over my prostrate and helpless figure, as I saw him kneel just now; and when that moment comes--come it to-night, to-morrow, or come it ten years hence--one of us two must leap the barrier which fences this world from the next, ere he shall escape. Which of us two shall it be? And when shall that moment come?" As I so spoke the two men turned to me. Evidently they had arrived at some decision, and that they meant to do me a mischief, if not to murder me outright, I knew as surely as if someone had whispered their plans in my ear. Once again their leader fixed me with his eyes. Once again I was conscious of the same strange feeling of helplessness; and once again figures shaped themselves before me as in a tableau. Two men were lying in wait on a dark staircase to brain yet another man--myself--as he groped his way out. CHAPTER II. THE MAN WITH THE PICTURE-EYES. "Good evening." It was the leader of the gang who had spoken, smiling and rubbing his hands softly the one on the other, as pleased, apparently, as any purring cat. "Good evening," I responded curtly. "May we ask to what we owe the pleasure of your presence here?" he continued suavely, but watching me closely meanwhile. "My presence here?" I said, as if surprised by the question. "Why shouldn't I come here, any more than you? It is a public place, isn't it? And I came here to smoke opium, as you and your friends have done, I suppose; just as one goes to a tavern for a glass of beer." "Not at all," he replied. "This is a private house, just as much as your own house is, and you have no more right to force your way into it, than I have to force myself into yours. You stand in the position of a trespasser. For all I know to the contrary, you may even be what in America they call an area sneak-thief, except for the fact that you have sneaked your way to the top of the house instead of to the area. May I ask who directed you here? I _must_ ask, for I insist upon having an answer."