“I don’t know--I played my part--I believed it was Miss Dorothy--there’s some trickery here?” is what he gasps. “Trickery! yes, I see; he believes he has again outwitted a pasha. Once more I am robbed of a bride, but this blade shall drink his blood. It was forged in the fire of revenge! Nothing can save you now, dog of a Christian!” The Turk has gone mad--his appearance is positively fearful. Dante could find inspiration for his pictures of the Inferno by looking upon his frenzied countenance, scowling and blazing with the wrath that has been bottled up all these years, to burst its bonds at last. He means every word he speaks, and backs it up by swinging on high the flashing blade. The extraordinary temper of Damascus steel has long been the theme of song and story, and the skill which the Saracens of old displayed in handling their precious blades has been sung again and again. With a strong and well-trained arm, vengeance-driven, using such a weapon, it would not be difficult to sever a man’s head from his body at a single stroke. As this yataghan, the pet weapon of Arab and Algerian, cuts the air in flashing curves, the tragedy of the Midway seems about to reach its climax. A scream breaks forth. Saidee, the fortune teller, has thrown her form in front of the old speculator. “You shall not strike him save through my heart, pasha!” she shrieks. The Turk has started back as she comes between his weapon and its intended victim; but his confusion is only momentary. Then over his dark face spreads a smile that is absolutely fiendish. He intended taking one victim--two will do just as well. “Together, then, you shall die! I have made a vow! A Turk always keeps his word.” “Pardon me, but I’m afraid you lie, pasha,” says Wycherley, as he strikes the yataghan out of Scutari’s hand with a cudgel he picks up from the floor. Then as he places his foot upon the weapon, he continues calmly: “My dear man, don’t you know the race isn’t always to the swift? When you come to America and buck against Chicago brain and muscle it’s ten to one you go home a sadder and a wiser man. That’s right, scowl as you please, I’m quite impervious to it. Now you feel for another weapon and start for me! Well, I’m cheerfully on deck, every time. Come on with your circus, band-wagon and all. The show has begun and I am ready to play my part.” With considerable adroitness the ex-actor has whipped out his bowie, and the other hand withdraws the revolver that Wild Bill once handled. Such a display might well cause dismay even in the breast of a fire-eater, and perhaps the Turk might have paused before rushing to impale himself, but the detective in woman’s clothes, feeling that he is expected to do something more in order to earn his fat fee, now fastens upon the back of the pasha, just as the Old Man of the Sea did upon Sinbad, and, pinioning his arms to his sides, despite his mad bellowings, prevents him from either flight or any dangerous move.