Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter.
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