“M. de Witt!” yelled the clerk dismally; then he was silent suddenly, and the Grand Pensionary heard him fall.
It was quite dark. He stepped back against the railings and called his servant; a man quickly closed with him.
“I am unarmed,” he said. “Are you an assassin?”
His opponent flung himself on him and thrust his sword viciously at him, wounding him in the throat.
Taken by surprise as he was, John de Witt turned, seized his assailant, and hurled him off.
“Van den Wissel!” he called again; but the only answer came from two others of the ambuscade, who rushed to the assistance of the one the Grand Pensionary had thrown. He had now three against him; he set his back against the railings and fought them off with his bare hands, proudly saying nothing, though every moment he received a fresh wound.
It could not last long. As he turned to face one, another stabbed him in the back and he fell silently, striking his head violently against the railings of the Vyver.
Hoarse, broken whispers came from the murderers—
“Is he dead?”