"In that case," Tristram replied, springing back a pace and whipping out his sword, "I must decline to follow you."
"Bah! This is folly."
"On the contrary, it is the conclusion of a valid syllogism which I will explain to you if you have time."
"Seize him!" was the only answer. The four men drew their swords and rushed forward together. Perceiving that he must be skewered against the shop door if he awaited their onset, Tristram contented himself with disarming his foremost assailant; then, springing wildly back on his left heel, he spun round and began to run down the street for dear life.
His movement had been so sudden that he gained a dozen yards before his enemies recovered from their surprise and set off in pursuit. Sword in hand, Tristram flew along the causeway, under the high garden-walls, for the open country and the windmills ahead. He heard the feet pounding after him, but luckily did not look behind. Therefore he was ignorant that his leading pursuer carried a brace of pistols in his belt and was pulling one out as he ran.
It was so, however; and in half a minute the pistol cracked out behind him—as it seemed, at the very back of his ear.
He sped on nevertheless, not knowing if he were wounded or not, but very wisely deciding that this was the surest way to find out.
As it happened, this pistol-shot proved of the greatest service to him. For an inquisitive burgher, hearing the outcries along the road, had popped his head out of his garden door at the very moment that Tristram whizzed by, followed by the detonation. The burgher, too, was uncertain about the bullet, but determined on the instant to take the gloomier view. He therefore fell across the pavement on his stomach and bellowed.
The distraction was so sudden that two of the pursuers tripped over his prostrate form and fell headlong. Their swords clanged on the cobbles. With the clang there mingled the sound of a muffled explosion.
"Curse the idiot! You've killed him, Dick."