The foils clashed; Pomeroy made a rapid lunge at Jack, who instantly straightened himself, and before his opponent could recover his guard, Jack's foil was out, and slid along the other, and with a dexterous turn of the wrist he sent the weapon flying out of Pomeroy's hand, over the ring of onlookers, to the other end of the room, where it clattered against the wall and fell with a clash to the floor.
"Oh, come now! I never lose my wagers. I make a point of it," said Dugdale with a rueful look.
"End of the first round; that's Lumsden's," said Smith quietly. "Five minutes' rest, then to it again. Give you six to one next round."
"No, thanks! I'll wait a bit. Can't afford to part with all my pants. What's that?"
Above the voices of the officers discussing the details of the match rose the clamour of a repeated battering on the door.
"Oh, I say!" cried Dugdale, "we can't have this interrupted. Is the door locked?"
"Fast," replied Shirley, adding:
"'And neither bolt nor bar shall keep
My own true—love—from—'"
The quotation remained unfinished, for Jack laid Shirley on his back and sat on him. The knock was repeated again and again, with increasing loudness; the door was rattled with ever-growing vehemence.
"Set your back against the door, Giles," said Jack. "It'll take some force to move your fourteen stone of muscle."