“Enough!  Enough!  Oh!  Ouch!  Stop!  You’re landing on my naked skin, you know!  Ow!  O-w-w!  I’ll be good!  I’ll be good!  I only wanted you to see my metamorphosis,” he said ruefully, and I imagined he was rubbing his hurts.

A few minutes later we were playing tennis—­a handicap on my part, for I could have no knowledge of his position save when all the angles between himself, the sun, and me, were in proper conjunction.  Then he flashed, and only then.  But the flashes were more brilliant than the rainbow—­purest blue, most delicate violet, brightest yellow, and all the intermediary shades, with the scintillant brilliancy of the diamond, dazzling, blinding, iridescent.

But in the midst of our play I felt a sudden cold chill, reminding me of deep mines and gloomy crypts, such a chill as I had experienced that very morning.  The next moment, close to the net, I saw a ball rebound in mid-air and empty space, and at the same instant, a score of feet away, Paul Tichlorne emitted a rainbow flash.  It could not be he from whom the ball had rebounded, and with sickening dread I realized that Lloyd Inwood had come upon the scene.  To make sure, I looked for his shadow, and there it was, a shapeless blotch the girth of his body, (the sun was overhead), moving along the ground.  I remembered his threat, and felt sure that all the long years of rivalry were about to culminate in uncanny battle.

I cried a warning to Paul, and heard a snarl as of a wild beast, and an answering snarl.  I saw the dark blotch move swiftly across the court, and a brilliant burst of vari-colored light moving with equal swiftness to meet it; and then shadow and flash came together and there was the sound of unseen blows.  The net went down before my frightened eyes.  I sprang toward the fighters, crying: 

“For God’s sake!”

But their locked bodies smote against my knees, and I was overthrown.

“You keep out of this, old man!” I heard the voice of Lloyd Inwood from out of the emptiness.  And then Paul’s voice crying, “Yes, we’ve had enough of peacemaking!”

From the sound of their voices I knew they had separated.  I could not locate Paul, and so approached the shadow that represented Lloyd.  But from the other side came a stunning blow on the point of my jaw, and I heard Paul scream angrily, “Now will you keep away?”

Then they came together again, the impact of their blows, their groans and gasps, and the swift flashings and shadow-movings telling plainly of the deadliness of the struggle.

I shouted for help, and Gaffer Bedshaw came running into the court.  I could see, as he approached, that he was looking at me strangely, but he collided with the combatants and was hurled headlong to the ground.  With despairing shriek and a cry of “O Lord, I’ve got ’em!” he sprang to his feet and tore madly out of the court.