There was a dead silence for several seconds, only broken by the click of the outer door, as Hull pushed it into its place, and shot the bolt.
Shelton grew very white, but said nothing.
With his sword ready to assume the guard, Johnnie walked to the centre of the room.
The bully's face grew whiter still. Little drops of moisture glistened on his forehead, and on his blonde moustache.
Then he spoke.
"Ah! Mr. Commendone!" he said, with a horrid little laugh. "News from Court, I suppose? Is it urgent? His Grace is engaged within, but I will acquaint him. His Grace is engaged——" There came a titter of discovery and fear from his lips. His words died away into silence.
Johnnie advanced towards him, his sword pointed at his heart.
"What does this mean, Mr. Commendone?"
"Death."
The man's sword was out in a moment. The touch of it seemed to bring the life back to him, and with never a word, he sprang at Commendone. He was a brave man enough, a clever fencer too, but he knew now that his hour had come. He read it in the fixed face before him, that face of frozen fury. He knew it directly the blades touched. Indeed he was no match for Commendone, with his long training, and clean, abstemious life. But even had he been an infinitely superior swordsman, he knew that he would have had no chance in that moment. There was something behind the young man's arm which no Sir John Shelton could resist.