“To be sure I ... have pinked my man!” retorted Sir John Dering a little unsteadily and with so wild a look that Lord Verrian started.
“Nay, Dering,” quoth he soothingly. “’Twas he drew first ... and you’d scarce made a push at each other—and both o’ ye desperate fierce—than poor Charles slips, d’ye see, and impales himself on your point ... a devilish business altogether—never saw such hell-fire fury and determination!”
“I’ faith, my lord,” answered Sir John, dabbing daintily at pallid lips with belaced handkerchief, “to hear you one might imagine that ... Charles and I were ... the bitterest enemies i’ the world rather than the ... best o’ friends—aye, the best! For it seems ... a man may love a man and ... kill a man. So in yonder room lieth my poor friend Charles, very still and silent, freed o’ debts and duns at last, and I——” Sir John checked suddenly as from the stairs without stole a ripple of laughter.
“By God—a woman!” gasped Lord Verrian. Young Mr. Prescott sank down into the nearest chair, head between twitching hands; Captain Armitage sprang to bar the door, but, as he did so, it swung open and a girl smiled in upon them—a tall, handsome creature, black-eyed, full-lipped, dominant in her beauty.
“Lord, gentlemen!” she exclaimed, glancing swiftly from one face to another; “I protest y’are very gloomily mum—as I were a ghost. Nay—what is it? Are you all dumb? Where is Charles?... He was to meet me here! You, my Lord Verrian ... Captain Armitage—where is Charles?”
Lord Verrian turned his back, mumbling incoherencies; Mr. Prescott groaned. And then her quick glance had caught the glitter of the swords upon the table. “Charles!” she cried suddenly. “Charles! Ah—my God!”
Captain Armitage made a feeble effort to stay her, but, brushing him imperiously aside, she fled into the inner room.
Ensued a moment of tense and painful stillness, and then upon the air rose a dreadful strangled screaming, and she was back, the awful sound still issuing from her quivering lips.
“Who ... who,” she gasped at last, “which of you ... which of you ... did it?”
No one spoke, only Sir John Dering bowed, laced handkerchief to lip.