"Peste! What a man you are for detail. If you must have the story, I ran them to earth between four and five this morning, in hiding in Mart Mill three miles south of Bridgewater."
A strange light crept into Captain Jonas' eyes. There was dead silence for a moment before he answered in a strange voice:
"That is strange, Protheroe. I drew that cover myself this morning at four o'clock, and I'll be sworn it was empty."
Then suddenly dashing down his glass, he sprang to his feet.
"By Heavens, Protheroe!" he shouted fiercely, "I believe you've been lying to me from beginning to end."
But he got no further. Ere Captain Protheroe could snatch his sword from its sheath, Ralph was at the man's throat, burying his fingers deep in the soft flesh.
Captain Jonas was a strong man, and despite the suddenness of the attack, he fought with desperate fury. They swayed together, tottered, fell; rolling over in a wild indistinguishable mass of struggling limbs. There was no sound, save only Ralph's quick breathing and now and again a choking, inarticulate cry from Captain Jonas. Over again they rolled, and now the man's struggles were weaker. Ralph's grip had told.
"Oh! are you killing him?" whispered Barbara, watching the struggle in horror.
"No, he's not dead yet," gasped Ralph. "Out of the way, Barbara, while we finish him."
"Ah, no! You will not kill him now!" she gasped.