“Come in,” bawled some one, in second answer to the knock she had already given.
“It is he!” said Hugh, trembling with excitement.
“Hush!” said Falconer, and went in.
Hugh followed. He know the back of the count at once. He was seated at a table, apparently writing; but, going nearer, they saw that he was drawing. A single closer glance showed them the portrait of Euphra growing under his hand. In order to intensify his will and concentrate it upon her, he was drawing her portrait from memory. But at the moment they caught sight of it, the wretch, aware of a hostile presence, sprang to his feet, and reached the chimney-piece at one bound, whence he caught up a sword.
“Take care, Falconer,” cried Hugh; “that weapon is poisoned. He is no every-day villain you have to deal with.”
He remembered the cat.
Funkelstein made a sudden lunge at Hugh, his face pale with hatred and anger. But a blow from Falconer’s huge fist, travelling faster than the point of his weapon, stretched him on the floor. Such was Falconer’s impetus, that it hurled both him and the table across the fallen villain. Falconer was up in a moment. Not so Funkelstein. There was plenty of time for Hugh to secure the rapier, and for Falconer to secure its owner, before he came to himself.
“Where’s my ring?” said Hugh, the moment he opened his eyes.
“Gentlemen, I protest,” began Funkelstein, in a voice upon which the cord that bound his wrists had an evident influence.
“No chaff!” said Falconer. “We’ve got all our feathers. Hand over the two rings, or be the security for them yourself.”