A fierce lunge or two, a swift parry, and then,--then an inch beyond safety--given purposely--yielded room for the riposte he sought from that other rapier.
It came with a quick cry of triumph, as Roshan felt that thin, cold steel slide silently on through a dull, faint resistance. A cry that ended in a gasp, as the hand which held the rapier dropped for a second, then flung itself upwards.
For Pidar Narâyan had given the reprise; and 'L'Addio del Marito' had done its work.
So, for an instant--held upright by the lingering force of the old man's hand--the two stood within a sword's length, their faces glaring at each other,--stern, implacable, the one in death, the other still in life.
Then the strength, the life, ebbed; the balance between it and death wavered, and Ninian Bruce, overborne by his enemy's dead weight, sank to his knee, then backwards.
But his hand still gripped the rapier. So Roshan Khân's body, as it fell forward, slithered down the sharp blade, sending a little jet of crimson blood backwards, till it stopped with a dull thud upon the hilt.
So he lay, face downwards, beside the old man, whose face looked skyward; whose head rested among the withered marigolds and the sweet, dead leaves of the basil, which generations and generations of pilgrims had offered to an unknown wisdom on their way to the "Cradle of the Gods."
[CHAPTER XXVIII]
THE TRUTH
"And to look at it now," came the Commissioner's rich, round brogue, "you would think butter wouldn't melt in its mouth!"