There is a very narrow line between despair and black rage. I had about given up the game, but the sudden ache of my shoulders gave me purpose again. He must have seen the rage in my eyes, for his own became cruel.
“The weasel would like to bite,” he cried. “But the poor weasel has found its master. Stand still, vermin. Smile, look pleasant, or I will make pulp of you. Do you dare to frown at me?”
I shut my teeth and said never a word. I was choking in my throat and could not have uttered a syllable if I had tried.
Then he let me go, grinning like an ape.
I stepped back a pace and gave him my left between the eyes.
For a second he did not realize what had happened, for I don’t suppose anyone had dared to lift a hand to him since he was a child. He blinked at me mildly. Then his face grew as red as fire.
“God in heaven,” he said quietly. “I am going to kill you,” and he flung himself on me like a mountain.
I was expecting him and dodged the attack. I was quite calm now, but pretty helpless. The man had a gorilla’s reach and could give me at least a couple of stone. He wasn’t soft either, but looked as hard as granite. I was only just from hospital and absurdly out of training. He would certainly kill me if he could, and I saw nothing to prevent him.
My only chance was to keep him from getting to grips, for he could have squeezed in my ribs in two seconds. I fancied I was lighter on my legs than him, and I had a good eye. Black Monty at Kimberley had taught me to fight a bit, but there is no art on earth which can prevent a big man in a narrow space from sooner or later cornering a lesser one. That was the danger.
Backwards and forwards we padded on the soft carpet. He had no notion of guarding himself, and I got in a good few blows.