“Enough!” said Alexandra. “There’s no reason to this, not except if you mean to kill him.” “Presently, there’s a thought!” “No.” She shut her long fingers about his wrist; for a moment there appeared to be a whirlwind of lights and darks in her eyes. “This has not helped to ease matters between the Valeas and the de Czeges. I don’t need it to go any further.” “As you wish, then, at that point,” he said. “However, I will not make them dog me during the rest of the examination. Give me the mace.” “What are you going to do?” “Break his legs. That should require a few days to recuperate.” Mikolas rolled away, attempting to arrive at his sword. Beheim pulled him back by his belt and held him while he whipped and smoldered; a pinkish fluid rose from his throat—the injury was mending rapidly. “What of his sibling?” Alexandra inquired. “Furthermore, what of the remainder of the de Czeges? Their legs will be entirety.” “One of them, at any rate, will at this point don’t represent a danger.” Beheim loosened up a hand to her. “Offer it to me.” “I don’t confide in you,” she said after stopping for a moment. “I’ll do it.” “Don’t be absurd! Take a quick trip and see to the kids.” “What’s the utilization of that? If we remove them from him, they’ll just return. You realize that.” He kept holding out his hand, and with clear hesitance, she passed him the mace and strolled off toward the window where the kids were sitting. “You know,” Beheim said to Mikolas without looking at him without flinching, “I get you. I used to capture men like you. Here and there I needed to kill them. I comprehend you well overall.” He tapped the mace delicately against Mikolas’ knee, watched the leg harden in expectation. Then, at that point he raised the mace high and carried it down on the kneecap energetically, breaking a bone, crushing the texture of the pants down into the soil of blood and ligament. A piercing whimpering got away from Mikolas’ lips, and he blacked out. Beheim squashed the other kneecap with a subsequent blow and sat quietly, hanging tight for him to awaken. Alexandra, he saw, was stooping alongside the kids, serving here and there to one of them. At last, Mikolas blended. His eyes vacillated open. Zeroed in on Beheim. “Presently I will reveal to you a story,” said Beheim, pushing Mikolas’ face to the side with the wad of the mace so he couldn’t utilize the force of his eyes. “In the not-so-distant past in Paris, there was a neurotic who had killed four ladies with his hands. He was, actually, a man very much like you. An actual wonder had of brutal strength. We could see that from the merciless things he’d done to the bodies. He sent us messages, giggling at us, provoking us to discover him. He flaunted that he would kill any individual who tried to draw close to him. He composed sonnets about our idiocy and sent them to the papers. Ultimately we found what his identity was, yet since he lived in the city, in the sewers, any dim spot that he could rule with his solidarity, it was no simple errand to carry him to the ground. Finally, notwithstanding, we figured out how to trap him in Montparnasse one evening, and we pursued him up onto the roofs.” Alexandra came up alongside him and began to talk, however, he held up a hand, encouraging her to quiet. “Simply give me a second,” he said. “I’m nearly completed here.” Mikolas attempted to turn his head, to take a gander at Alexandra, yet Beheim gave him another firm push with the chunk of the mace. “The houses in that specific part of Montparnasse are set extremely near one another,” he went on. “Large numbers of the roads close to back streets, the rear entryways scarcely wide enough to allow a developed man section. The roofs resemble a country all their own, a landscape of odd pinnacles and peaks and steep inclines, all tiled and smooth underneath even in a dry climate. A hazardous spot to chase so imposing a man as our insane person. We realized he was unable to get away from us. We had cordoned off a space of a few squares. Sometimes we will undoubtedly get him, either in the city or on the roofs. However, we had two concerns. In the first place, we would not like to take numerous setbacks. If we overflowed the roofs with men, the insane person would in all likelihood have the option to kill a few of them. Maybe more. He would jump upon them from some dull crevice and rip them separated or lose them on the rooftop. We would need to be extremely careful.