"I had such a letter a minute ago, but I lit my pipe with it under your nose."
[pg 88]
The polite man stepped back; his four companions started to their feet.
The servant from Ohlau cried out with an oath, "It's a lie."
Wogan shrugged his shoulders and crossed his legs.
"Here's a fine world," said he. "A damned rag of a lackey gives a gentleman the lie."
"You will give me the letter," said the polite man, coming round the table. He held his right hand behind his back.
"You can sweep up the ashes from the hearth," said Wogan, who made no movement of any kind. The polite man came close to his side; Wogan let him come. The polite man stretched out his left hand towards Wogan's pocket. Wogan knocked the hand away, and the man's right arm swung upwards from behind his back with a gleaming pistol in the hand. Wogan was prepared for him; he had crossed his legs to be prepared, and as the arm came round he kicked upwards from the knee. The toe of his heavy boot caught the man upon the point of the elbow. His arm was flung up; the pistol exploded and then dropped onto the floor. That assailant was for the time out of action, but at the same moment the lackey came running across the floor, his shoulders thrust forward, a knife in his hand.
Wogan had just time to notice that the lackey's coat was open at his breast. He stood up, leaned over the table, caught the lapels one in each hand [pg 89] as the fellow rushed at him, and lifting the coat up off his shoulders violently jammed it backwards down his arms as though he would strip him of it. The lackey stood with his arms pinioned at his elbows for a second. During that second Wogan drew his hunting knife from his belt and drove it with a terrible strength into the man's chest.