With this weapon, he knew--though final defeat was inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive--he could sweep a clear space.
Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs, and his heart died within him.

Well, even though escape were impossible, he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must! Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck the policeman who was just getting to his feet again.

Oaths, cries, screams made the place hideous.

Dust rose, and blood began to flow.
Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went, he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vile conspirators.
And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samson against the Philistines, he did great execution.
Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery.

For, even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a loss before such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose, a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavy night-stick in her hand.
A moment she poised it, crouching as he--seeing her not--swung his weapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front.
Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck.
Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gabriel.