Sir Bleoberis arose without effort. Baron Bors stepped forward and said sternly:
“What, you, Sir Bleoberis, were doing here I do not know. I suspect you of evil purposes. But it is clear you had nothing to do with the seizure of my daughter, if, indeed, she has been carried off by Sir Dagonet. You may go. But as for you,” shouted the Baron, turning to the Professor, “I perceive that your devilish arts have been used against me and my family while you have been eating my bread. The world shall no longer be burdened by such a monster. Away with him to the scaffold!”
“This,” said the Professor, as the perspiration stood in beads upon his pallid face, “is painful; very painful. Allow me to explain. The fact is I—”
“Away!” said the Baron, with an impatient gesture. “Off with his head as quickly as possible!”
“But, my dear sir,” contended the Professor, as the Baron’s retainers seized him, “this is simply awful! No court, no jury, no trial, no chance to tell my story! It is not just. It is not fair play. Permit me, for one moment, to—”
“To the block with him!” screamed the Baron. “Have no more parley about it!”
Sir Bleoberis came forward.
“Sir Bors,” he said, “this, in a measure, is my quarrel. It falls to me by right to punish this wretch. Will you permit me?” and then Sir Bleoberis struck the Professor in the face with his mailed gauntlet.
Professor Baffin would have assailed him upon the spot, but for the fact that he was a captive.
“He means that you shall fight him,” said Sir Dinadan, who retained his faith in the Professor, remembering his own affection for Miss Baffin.