Saying which he crouched at a little distance. He sprang forward on the steps, made a false thrust with his knife that bore a dark stain, then plunged beneath the arm Reggio flung up.
It seemed that the gondolier would be cut to death in a moment, but he made a lucky clutch with his empty hand, and caught the wrist of his enemy, partly checking and turning the blow. He was wounded slightly.
Baffled in that manner, Mullura had the misfortune to slip on the steps while within the reach of Tortora. Before he could recover and save himself, the latter plunged the knife into his shoulder.
The stricken man broke the hold of the other, but up went one of his arms, and he reeled down the steps, on which his knife clanged, having fallen from his hand.
Reggio followed. His back was toward the light, but his manner was that of one who means to finish a task not yet accomplished.
Mullura tried to rise to his feet. He scrambled up, saw Tortora right upon him, leaped back, again lost his footing, and, a moment later, plunged with a great splash into the water.
The gondolier followed to the edge of the water, where he crouched, bloody knife in hand, watching for the man he hated to rise to the surface.
The water was ruffled and broken, but the ripples were caused by the man who had vanished, and they grew less and less. The head of Mullura did not rise into view.
“I opine the gent is done for,” muttered Brad Buckhart, finding his voice at last.
“I believe he is,” said Dick, speaking with an effort. “If so, he met his just due.”