"Attack!" howled Dimanche against the bone behind his ear. "You've got him. He can't imagine how you know where he is in the darkness. He's afraid."
Attack he did, slicing about wildly. Some of the thrusts landed; some didn't. The percentage was low, the total amount high. His opponent fell to the ground, gasped and was silent.
Cassal fumbled in his pockets and flipped on a light. The man lay near the water side of the alley. One leg was crumpled under him. He didn't move.
"Heartbeat slow," said Dimanche solemnly. "Breathing barely perceptible."
"Then he's not dead," said Cassal in relief.
Foam flecked from the still lips and ran down the chin. Blood oozed from cuts on the face.
"Respiration none, heartbeat absent," stated Dimanche.
Horrified, Cassal gazed at the body. Self-defense, of course, but would the police believe it? Assuming they did, they'd still have to investigate. The rapier was an illegal concealed weapon. And they would question him until they discovered Dimanche. Regrettable, but what could he do about it?
Suppose he were detained long enough to miss the ship bound for Tunney 21?