I almost fell at full length—would have fallen had Varduk not been standing in my way. My sword-point, completely out of control, drove at the center of his breast—I felt it tear through cloth, through flesh——
A moment later his slender hands had caught my floundering body and pushed it back upon its feet. My sword, wedged in something, snatched its hilt from my hand. Sick and horrified, I saw it protruding from the midst of Varduk's body. Behind me I heard the choked squeal of Martha Vining, and an oath from Jake Switz. I swayed, my vision seemed to swim in smoky liquid, and I suppose I was well on the way to an unmasculine swoon. But a light chuckle, in Varduk's familiar manner, saved me from collapsing.
"That is exactly the way to do it, Mr. Connatt," he said in a tone of well-bred applause.
He drew the steel free—I think that he had to wrench rather hard—and then stepped forward to extend the hilt.
"There's blood on it," I mumbled sickly.
"Oh, that?" he glanced down at the blade. "Just a deceit for the sake of realism. You arranged the false-blood device splendidly, Davidson." He pushed the hilt into my slack grasp. "Look, the imitation gore is already evaporating."
So it was, like dew on a hot stone. Already the blade shone bright and clean.
"Very good," said Varduk. "Climax now. Miss Holgar, I think it is your line."
She, too, had been horrified by the seeming catastrophe, but she came gamely up to the bit where Mary pleads for Swithin's life, offering herself as the price. Half a dozen exchanges between Ruthven and Mary, thus:
"You give yourself up, then?"