CHAPTER XVII. SIMÉON GIVES BATTLE
It took them some time to loosen Ya-Bon's grip. Even in death the Senegalese did not let go his prey; and his fingers, hard as iron and armed with nails piercing as a tiger's claws, dug into the neck of the enemy, who lay gurgling, deprived of consciousness and strength.
Don Luis caught sight of Siméon's revolver on the cobbles of the yard:
"It was lucky for you, you old ruffian," he said, in a low voice, "that Ya-Bon did not have time to squeeze the breath out of you before you fired that shot. But I wouldn't chortle overmuch, if I were you. He might perhaps have spared you, whereas, now that Ya-Bon's dead, you can write to your family and book your seat below. De profundis, Diodokis!" And, giving way to his grief, he added, "Poor Ya-Bon! He saved me f
