every direction.  His wonderful marksmanship never failed him for a moment, and when he missed it was always by the narrowest margin only.

On the Rampart Street side of the house there are several sheds, commanding an excellent range of the upper story.  Detective Littleton, Andrew Van Kuren of the Workhouse force and several others climbed upon one of these and opened fire on the upper windows, shooting whenever they could catch a glimpse of the assassin.  Charles responded with his rifle, and presently Van Kuren climbed down to find a better position.  He was crossing the end of the shed when he was killed.

Another of Charles’s bullets found its billet in the body of Frank Evans, an ex-member of the police force.  He was on the Rampart Street side firing whenever he had an opportunity.  Officer J.W.  Bofill and A.S.  Leclerc were also wounded in the fusillade.

While the events thus briefly outlined were transpiring time was a-wing, and the cooler headed in the crowd began to realize that some quick and desperate expedient must be adopted to insure the capture of the fiend and to avert what might be a still greater tragedy than any yet enacted.  For nearly two hours the desperate monster had held his besiegers at bay, darkness would soon be at hand and no one could predict what might occur if he made a dash for liberty in the dark.

At this critical juncture it was suggested that the house be fired.  The plan came as an inspiration, and was adopted as the only solution of the situation.  The wretched old rookery counted for nothing against the possible continued sacrifice of human life, and steps were immediately taken to apply the torch.  The fire department had been summoned to the scene soon after the shooting began; its officers were warned to be ready to prevent a spread of the conflagration, and several men rushed into the lower right-hand room and started a blaze in one corner.

They first fired an old mattress, and soon smoke was pouring out in dense volumes.  It filled the interior of the ramshackle structure, and it was evident that the upper story would soon become untenable.  An interval of tense excitement followed, and all eyes were strained for a glimpse of the murderer when he emerged.

Then came the thrilling climax.  Smoked out of his den, the desperate fiend descended the stairs and entered the lower room.  Some say he dashed into the yard, glaring around vainly for some avenue of escape; but, however that may be, he was soon a few moments later moving about behind the lower windows.  A dozen shots were sent through the wall in the hope of reaching him, but he escaped unscathed.  Then suddenly the door on the right was flung open and he dashed out.  With head lowered and rifle raised ready to fire on the instant, Charles dashed straight for the rear door of the front cottage.