“Or to spurn my inferiors, rogue,” I retorted; “’tis for me to ask what brings you here to torment a noble lady?”
His eyes blazed; he lifted his clenched hand to deal me a blow and found the muzzle of my pistol in his face. He recoiled, cursing me furiously.
“What do you mean, assassin?” he cried, feeling desperately for a pistol, and finding none, as I saw, though he had drawn his sword.
“Down with that weapon,” I said coolly, “and up with your hands—or I will send you into eternity!”
But his blood was up; he made a wild pass at me and I fired, knowing that the tumult without would account for any noise. I had aimed at his sword hand, and so neatly that the ball grazed his thumb and forefinger and he recoiled again; as he did so, Maluta sprang, like a cat, on his shoulders, and struck the weapon out of his wounded hand.
“Curse you!” cried Kurakin, “what devil is this that you have for an accomplice?”
“No devil,” I replied, “nor do I wish to kill you; but one instant more of opposition and I put a bullet through your heart.”
He was trying to throw Maluta off, but he might as well have sought to cast off a monkey; the little creature wound his long arms around him and clung to him fiercely. Kurakin stared at me savagely.
“I will kill you for this!” he said, between his teeth.
“On the contrary, I will kill you,” I retorted, my foot on his sword, and my pistol at his breast.