They stood there for some moments holding their breath; everything was silent. Then there was a light patter of feet again and a small bent shape darted through the patch of moonlight. It seemed to Playle’s terrified eyes to be an evil spirit not three feet high from the ground and to have its head almost level with its waist while its back was bent into a monstrous hump. Instinctively he put up his sword to shield his head and at that moment something brushed passed him; he slashed at it and fancied that he had wounded it, but the next moment he felt Jacques grunt and stumble. He was just going to spring away when he felt the man right himself and once again a man’s back was firm against his own.
Then there was silence again for a second.
Suddenly Rilp staggered, shivered, and dropped.
Playle immediately darted forward, when to his amazement and horror the man whom he thought was Jacques darted after him; something sprang on his shoulders from behind, a streak of silver light darted before his eyes and plunged down into his neck; he felt the blood well up in his throat, his breath failed him, a dark cloud passed over his eyes, and he died, crashing face downward into the little patch of moonlight.
In the scullery Blueneck, his shoulders against the door, turned to his comrades and urged them to pull themselves together; put forward every excuse for Black’erchief Dick’s extraordinary behaviour and besought them to get ready to fight again.
Inside the kitchen they could hear the Preventative men talking together, and by their low tones came to the conclusion that they were planning the next attack.
Suddenly Blueneck started.
“Marry! they’re fighting among themselves,” he whispered. “Hark!”
From inside the kitchen came the sounds of clashing steel, and angry oaths and ejaculations, followed by screams and groans. Then there was silence for a while immediately followed by footsteps, mutterings, and one terrible yell.
Then all was silent again.