"I refuse to fight with you," he said sullenly. "This matter has nothing to do with you. If I choose to marry your brother's widow, that is my business. Mind your own!"
"You shall marry no one," said Wilfred, harshly, "for I intend to kill you."
Brenda did not speak. She listened absently while the two men wrangled. Van Zwieten looked at her for a moment, then he turned his back on Wilfred.
"I will not fight you," he repeated.
The other man sprang forward and struck him on the cheek with his fist. "Will that make you fight?"
With a roar of rage Van Zwieten turned and flung himself forward. He caught the younger man in his arms like a child and threw him on the grass. Then he drew out his revolver and fired at the prostrate man. But Brenda had looked up, and seeing his intention had sprung to her feet and grasped his arm. The shot went wide, and in his rage Van Zwieten struck her--the woman he loved--struck her to the ground. And before he could recover himself sufficiently to fire a second time, he fell with a hoarse cry, shot twice through the breast by Wilfred Burton.
"Nemesis has come up with you at last," said the young man, picking up Brenda in his arms.
The sound of the shots had attracted the attention of the men near at hand. "Good God, Burton, what have you done?" cried an officer.
"Killed some vermin," was the reply. "Here, bring the ambulance along and put Burton into it."
"Wilfred!" shrieked Brenda, who had recovered her breath, "is he dead?"