“It is no insult to the gentlemen present, brave officers of the Rajah,” cried Dick excitedly, “but to one man only—the man who would stand by and hear the blame laid upon another—the coward, the thief!”
“Ah!” cried the Wazir, frantic with rage. “Then who was it? Let the Christian dog speak,”—sliding forward threateningly, sword in hand.
“Christian?—yes,” cried Dick excitedly. “Dog yourself, and thief!”
“Hah!” yelled the Wazir, and quick as thought he made a tremendous downward cut at the young officer. But Wyatt was even quicker, he was prepared, for, as the Wazir raised his sword, his own flashed out from its sheath as he stood on Dick’s right, and in the swift upward cut it met the Wazir’s.
There was a loud clang and a musical jangle as the blade of a tulwar fell quivering on the marble floor, and the Wazir stood holding the hilt only of his weapon in his hand, while Wyatt drew back his weapon to his shoulder a if about to thrust, and Dick drew and stood ready at his side.
The blade of a tulwar fell quivering on the marble floor.
“Stand back,” cried Wyatt in a deep, hoarse voice. “I don’t strike at unarmed men.”
“I appeal to your highness,” cried the Wazir. “I appeal to all who love me. An insult, an outrage!” he snarled, as his eyes seemed to blaze with the deadly hatred he felt towards the two Englishmen.