GRASPING MY STICK WITH BOTH HANDS, I CLENCHED MY TEETH, AND RUSHED UPON THE VILLAINS FROM BEHIND.
"You came in the nick of time, friend," said the man coolly, coming toward me. "Another two minutes or so and these beasts would have done——What! Heinrich Fischer!" he cried, in a tone of the greatest astonishment, holding out his hand. "This is well met indeed."
I did not think so; for it was with something akin to dismay that I recognized a French fencing-master, named Guion, with none too savory a reputation, from whom, in the days of my play-acting, I had lessons in stage fencing. I gave him my hand, but I could not make the clasp cordial.
"How came you in this plight, M. Guion?"
He laughed.
"Guion? Was that my name then? French, I suppose. By the body of the devil, I have such a lot of names and countries I can't remember them all. But I only use one at a time, and now, my good sir, I am a Corsican, and my name is Praga—Juan Praga, at your service, and not ashamed to own that I owe you my life. But what's the matter with you?"
"Praga!" I cried. "So it's you, is it, who fought the young Count von Gramberg and killed him?"
"Ho, and what in the name of the devil's skin do you know about that? But it's true, and it's equally true that to-night's business is part of the result. But, by the blood!"—and his face snarled like an angry dog's—"I'll make them pay."
"I can help you to your revenge," I said impulsively. "Let's go where we can be alone."