“And is this Cartouche?” I asked, more to gain time than for any other reason, for light as my purse was, I could ill afford to part with it, even to the most famous thief in Paris.
“Assuredly,” answered the fellow, and he held out his hand with an air of nonchalance which exasperated me. Cartouche’s fame had travelled far, and he had spoken truth when he said that all men with whom he talked left their purses with him, yet I was in mood for an adventure, and reflected that a man were better dead than penniless.
“I fear that you will have to break your rule in this instance, monsieur,” I said, after a moment’s silence, during which his attitude had lost nothing of its gay assurance. “The contents of my purse are of infinitely greater value to me than they can be to you. Hence I must beg leave to retain it.”
“Does monsieur count the cost?” he asked, quietly.
“Fully,” I answered, and, leaping back a pace, drew my sword and stood on guard. At the same instant he placed a whistle to his lips and blew one shrill blast. I heard the sound of hastening footsteps, and half a dozen blackguards, who had doubtless been concealed near by, were upon me, while Cartouche stood calmly to one side and watched the conflict. The foremost ran on my sword as upon a spit, and as he fell with a single, sobbing cry, I stepped back against the wall, prepared to give the others a warm argument. Yet I knew I must be overpowered in the end by sheer weight of numbers, and it was reputed that Cartouche had only one penalty for resistance. For some minutes I managed to keep the space in front of me clear, running one of the scoundrels through the shoulder before they saw they had a swordsman to deal with and retired to a safer distance. I heard windows near by opening, and looked for assistance from that direction, but in a moment they were closed again. Evidently no one dared interfere with Cartouche.
Then back at me his rascals came, all together, and evidently counting on overwhelming me in the rush, as, indeed, I thought they must do. Another fellow felt the point of my sword in his thigh, but matters were growing desperate, for I had myself been stabbed in the arm and was fast becoming winded. This was hotter work than I had ever done.
“What have we here?” suddenly rang out a new voice above the clash of swords. “An honest gentleman beset by knaves? A moment, monsieur, and I am with you.”
I discerned a dim figure running towards us, a sword flashed in the air, and its owner was at my side against the wall. He saw that I needed time to breathe and made play in front of me, while I stood with my mouth open, gasping like a fish. But it was only for a moment, and I was back in the fray again. That moment’s rest had given me time to see that my companion was a master of fence, and when the need to shield me was past and his blade was free to thrust, he ran one of the thieves through the breast without more ado. This reduced their number to three, and they gave back a little, evidently appalled at our swordsmanship.
“A pistol-shot!” cried one of the rogues to Cartouche. “A pistol-shot! ’Twill settle the business quickly.”
With an indescribable gesture Cartouche drew his pistols from his belt.