The stranger was now some distance in advance, for the person walking along so rapidly about half-way up the street must certainly be he, and Puymirol, seeing him again turn to the right, hastened on regardless of the noise his boots made on the asphalt. But he had mistaken another pedestrian for the enemy he wished to overtake, for just as he was least expecting it, his foe, emerging from an alley in which he had concealed himself, sprung out upon him, and seized him by the throat. Puymirol was strong, but the attack was so sudden and so violent, that he had not time to defend himself. He felt a violent twist, and that was all. His breath failed him, his arms fluttered, and he lost his footing, falling, half-fainting, upon the pavement. He did not entirely lose consciousness, but his sensations were vague and confused. He fancied that there was a heavy weight upon his chest, that his coat was being unbuttoned and his pockets searched, but all this was done so quickly that he was scarcely aware of it. How many minutes elapsed before he fully regained his senses, he never knew; but when he did recover them, he perceived that his assailant had disappeared. He rose with difficulty, and while satisfying himself that he had no bones broken, he likewise discovered that his pocket-book had disappeared. His watch, his money, and the lottery tickets were safe, however. His assailant had merely wanted to get the letters, and he was foiled in his attempt, for he had not found them. Puymirol endeavoured to console himself with this reflection, but although he still possessed the letters he did not know what use to make of them. Nothing short of a miracle was now required to extricate him from his dilemma, but Puymirol was no believer in miracles. III.