The Unknown’s weapon was laid aside with his cloak. The plain buff coat he wore followed it, and the scabbard of his sword. “Come, sir, come! Will you not fight for the privilege of keeping the lady and the riches? Or shall I fleece you of all? What, must I call you coward?” Off came the heavy riding boots, and the elegant flowered waistcoat. He stood straight in the moonlight, a lithe figure in a white shirt, with fair hair caught in the nape of his neck, and a strip of black velvet hiding the upper part of his face. A naked sword was in his hand; he shook it in the air, and the steel flashed in the moonlight. “A fair duel, sir, and you are the larger man! Faint heart!” Again he laughed “If I kill you the lady goes free but if you kill me you win all! Shall I rob you as you stand, or will you cross swords with me? Yours is the choice.”
“You kill me, you miserable little dwarf?” Markham cried. “You’ll fight, will you? You’re tired of life! Hand down my sword, girl, this instant! By God, I’ll teach you a lesson, you impudent dog!” He began to strip off his coat as he spoke, and kicked the buckled shoes from his feet.
The Unknown came to the coach door, and reached up a hand for the sword, and spread his fingers a moment for Letty to see the ring.
“I know! Oh, I know!” she whispered, looking down into the face that had haunted her dreams for so many nights past. “Kill him, oh, please kill him!”
“I will,” he promised, and took the sword from her trembling hold.
Mr Markham stood ready now and snatched his rapier from the Unknown’s hand. “You asked for this!” he snarled. “You’ll regret it too late. I’m not a novice with the small sword! On guard!”
There was the briefest of salutes, and the blades rang together. Markham lunged in quarte; Letty had a moment’s sick apprehension and shut her eyes. They flew open the next instant, to see the Unknown disengaging adroitly.
There was no sound on all this deserted heath but the scrape of steel; no movement save of those two figures on the grass, fighting sternly, desperately, with lives at stake.
The silver moonlight flooded the scene, and tinted it with an unreal ghostliness, glinting along the blue-grey blades, and touching the fair head of the Unknown, and the dark head of Markham.
To Letty, standing in the doorway of the coach, it was as a dream. Her wide eyes never left the graceful figure of the masked man; they followed every lightning thrust, and every dexterous parry. He was slight and small indeed, but he seemed to be made of wires, so agile were his movements, so unerring and untiring his arm. To see both men one must feel him to be hopelessly overweighted. Markham had the advantage in height, in reach, and in strength; he was a good swordsman besides, with a quick eye and a steady wrist. He had once killed a man in a duel, Letty knew.