“Well,” he said, “did you kill him?”
“Yes, I killed him ... and even wiped my sword—much ground have I to cast reproach at Lotzen.” He got up. “I’m going; if I sit under your tutelage any longer, I’ll be jabbling holes in the good citizens I meet on the Avenue.”
“With that stick?” Courtney asked.
“I forgot—the good citizen is safe to-night.”
“But you’re not. Let me give you a sword or a revolver.” And when both were declined, he held up the paper: “Danger imminent,” he warned.
“Bernheim will take care of me,” said Armand; “and a light stick isn’t a bad sort of rapier, if it is handled properly. I’m glad for this talk, and to have learned how very thin my veneer is.—I’m going back to the Epsau now, and teach Bernheim the scalp dance. Good night.”
“And trade him to the Regent for Moore, the first thing in the morning,” Courtney urged.
The Archduke paused at the threshold:
“Well, may be I shall,” he said; “I believe he is a bit more the savage.” He faced about. “As for you, my dear Dick, you’re cut out for a typical missionary—you would have the natives killing one another within an hour after you landed.”
“Danger imminent!” called Courtney, and the door swung shut.