The Frenchman saw the game was up; he seized his last, flying chance.…
Quick his little, keen dagger was out, and he made a swift movement to thrust it above the armlet of the Prince’s cuirass; there, where, by a little unguarded space, the heart might be reached.
Florent threw himself upon him.…
With a passionate sound of rage against the stolid Hollander who had roused at last, St. Croix turned. There was a second’s struggle; the sunlight winked along the steel.…
Florent pitched over backwards with closed eyes and an open mouth; St. Croix tore the door wide and fled.
The thing had not taken two minutes—it was less than ten since St. Croix had entered the room.
The Prince and William Bentinck caught Van Mander.
“He was right!” cried William fiercely; “the man was one of Louvois’ spies.”
“Murderers,” said M. Bentinck; “he has stabbed the fellow.”