“May we meet in heaven, my unhappy friend,” ejaculated Athos, while the actor who played his part expired in his arms from twenty mortal thrusts.
“But where is Monsieur Sydney Grundy?” cried D’Artagnan.
“He has escaped!” hissed Aramis. “A vehicle has just hurried from the stage-door.”
“We must follow to the world’s end if need be.”
Athos wiped his blade. There were tears upon it as well as blood.
“Where is Porthos?” he inquired.
Aramis stamped furiously and pointed to the bar.
Porthos was drinking bottled beer at the expense of the Haymarket Porthos.
“Traitor!” gasped Aramis.
“Not so!” said Athos sadly; “he teaches us a lesson. Had we done likewise these good men would not lie where they do.”