“Indeed, yes,” returned Grey, “and kindly instruct him not to use it to protect you.” For answer Erskine sprang from the shadow—discarding formal courtesies.
“En garde!” he called sternly.
The two shining blades clashed lightly and quivered against each other in the moonlight like running drops of quicksilver.
Grey was cautious at first, trying out his opponent’s increase in skill:
“You have made marked improvement.”
“Thank you,” smiled Erskine.
“Your wrist is much stronger.”
“Naturally.” Grey leaped backward and parried just in time a vicious thrust that was like a dart of lightning.
“Ah! A Frenchman taught you that.”
“A Frenchman taught me all the little I know.”