MY QUICKEST VANISH.

SEVEN years ago, I had an extraordinary adventure in Paris. We have all of us read at some time or another of the hand-to-mouth existence of the French apaches, of their crudeness and brutality, and disregard for human life. I, for one, put these stories down as figments of the imaginative minds of fiction writers, and certainly never imagined I should be mixed up in an affray that might well have ended in my death.

In the course of my visit to the French capital, I decided to call on an old friend of mine, a noted and much respected lawyer. He greeted me as only a Frenchman can, but told me regretfully that a previous appointment would necessitate his absence from town that evening. Then an idea struck him.

"I must go to my friends to dinner. But you will come as well--yes? They are very rich, and I am sure you will enjoy the private circus which my friend runs for the enjoyment of his guests. Most decidedly you must come."

I suggested that as an uninvited guest I should not be very welcome, but my doubts were swept aside.

"You do not know my friend as I do. You are connected with the stage, and that is enough. You must show him some of your tricks. I am sure he will be greatly amused."

And so I went. To this day I do not know the location of our destination, except that it lay twenty minutes' taxi ride west of the Arc de Triomphe. Sufficient to say that the house was the most magnificent private residence that I have ever entered. I was afterwards told it had belonged to a wealthy nobleman in the days before the Revolution.

I was introduced to my host and to several of the guests, of which there were many. We took our places at dinner, and I noticed everyone was in evening dress. The food was excellent, and my attempts to speak French to a young and exceedingly pretty lady at my side kept the party in roars of laughter. Altogether a very enjoyable meal.

The subsequent circus astounded me. There were clowns and performing animals, columbines and bare-back riders--all for the amusement of a handful of overgrown children! I suppose it takes all sorts to make a world, but I could not help thinking of the impossibility of such a performance in England. Imagine two or three dozen of our aristocracy clapping their hands at the antics of a clown rolled up in a carpet!

But time was progressing, and when I heard a nearby clock strike midnight, I hinted to my friend that I would like to leave. He urged me to stop, but I pleaded I had an early train to catch in the morning, and was anxious to be up betimes. I bade farewell to my host, and after receiving instructions as to my best way home, took a regretful departure.

The night air was chilling, and I stepped out at a smart pace towards town, hoping to pick up a taxi en route. I had not got more than a hundred yards from the house when I paused to light a cigarette. It was then that I heard footsteps.

I am not a man who is easily frightened, but those footsteps sent a chill down my spine. There was something uncanny about them,--they slithered! There seemed to be not one or two, but several people. The lane in which I found myself was dark and gloomy, and the overhanging trees shut out what little moonlight there was. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, and the footsteps stopped.

"Will Goldston," I said to myself. "You must walk a little quicker."

I quickened my stride, and the footsteps started again. Flippety-flop--just like so many feet in soft rubber shoes. They were getting nearer although I was doing a steady six miles an hour. I consoled myself with the thought that every pace brought me nearer civilisation.

Still they came--flippety flop, flippety flop, nearer still.

"Who can they be?" I thought. "It sounds like an army!"

By this time I had almost broken into a run, but the sounds behind me were gaining, gaining all the time. Suddenly they quickened and I realised they were only a few yards behind me.

I turned-and only just in time. The gleaming blade of a knife swept past my shoulder, and I heard a muttered oath in French. There were six or seven men and women crowding in on me, the most vile looking creatures I have ever set eyes on. They were dirty and unkempt, and their clothes smelt like a garbage yard. The faces might well have come from a Chamber of Horrors.

I didn't stop to think. I just ran. To the right was a sharp turning, and down this I speeded like a man possessed. Luckily for me, I was pretty fleet of foot. I had got a start of a few feet, and although I dared hot look back, I prayed inwardly that this might get wider with every step I took. The slithering steps behind told me that my pursuers were still after me, and I remember wondering if the gentleman with the knife was leading the way, or whether one of his less violent brothers (if any) had taken the lead.

Suddenly I saw a taxi. What is more, it was a moving taxi. I made one final burst and reached the door.

"Allez!" was all I could gasp to the bewildered driver. Fortunately, he understood my danger. As I sank back on the cushions, we shot forward at a speed that in other circumstances I should have considered suicidal. On this occasion it saved my life.